


Ashes To Dust

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Depression, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 37,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Øystein doesn't like watching as Per kills himself slowly.(Yet here he is, watching.)Øystein doesn't like watching as Per slits his wrists and drains his blood on the stage floor.(Yet here he is, waiting.)Until everything comes to a rise, and then Øystein can't stand by and watch anymore.
Relationships: Euronymous | Øystein Aarseth/Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin
Comments: 111
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

_Drip, drip, drip...._

Øystein hid a yawn behind his hand and shouldered his guitar, the flashing lights of the stage disappearing under the curtain as he emerged on the other side, relatively unscathed if he were to ignore the headache digging at his temples, which is merely a goodbye gift endowed upon him by the crowd, yelling in thinly veiled excitement, and Per, who screamed like a demon being tortured in the pitts of Hell, which usually got Øystein hard as a teenager but he was too exhausted for even the mildest of pleasure. 

Speaking of that fucking idiot. 

Per was standing off in corner, by himself, per usual, watching like a freak as the bright red blood trailed down the thin, pale expanse of his arm. It was almost like he was entranced by the sight of the very blood that kept him alive being spilled onto the floor like water, without a single care the whole damned world. Øystein would've been impressed by his stubbornness and will, if not too busy on insulting his lack of self preservation. 

"What a night!" Jørn exlaimed, wiping at the makeup that was beginning to run down his face from the sweat that'd appeared after a long while on the hot, cramped stage. 

Usually, Øystein would've made a snarky comment about the enthusiasm shown by the man, who was supposed to be acting like a member of a band such as theirs, and not like a kid who had just been booked his first show, but he wasn't in the mood for such things. 

Not then. 

Jan, meanwhile, was glancing at Per with something similar to mingled concern and pity. It wasn't uncommon for the drummer to be with level headed one, mainly because he was the one least concerned with the 'death' image, and more or less just wanted to play in some sort of band. "Are you alright?" He asked, making some sort of attempt to reach out for the vocalist, perhaps as a precaution against the paleness of Per's skin, though that was how it looked usually, really. 

Øystein tried not to appear concerned, because he wasn't, _(liar),_ but the whole fact that this was their vocalist that they were talking about about, and that there was no band without a singer, made him worried. Per was reckless with his cuts, and would frequently go too far, deep down into the soft skin and to the bone, which left Øystein to gripe and growl about it while debating on whether or not it was serious enough for the hospital. 

"Yes." Per said with a small, sharp nod, his voice hoarse and raspy from all of the previous screaming. 

Jan obviously didn't believe him but didn't push the issue at hand. 

It was so dark that not even the stars dared peek their heads through the thick sheet of black, which made it the perfect night for their gig. 

Everybody was still dressed in their stage costumes, with makeup caked onto their faces, painting them black and white, giving them a ghoulish look as they gathered in the crowded backstage. Øystein could still hear the crowd, chanting for more, more, _more,_ and he felt that snake of pride make an appearance, curling itself around his mind. 

They liked the demented talent. They liked the blood. They liked the screams. 

And that made Øystein immensely proud. "C'mon, we should get back to the cabin." He said, motioning for the other three to start moving along. 

Usually, they might've stayed to hit the drinks, but it didn't feel right, not when it was as late as it was, and Per was becoming increasingly unsteady, even in spite of the blank gaze in his eyes. 

Øystein tried to convince himself that he wasn't worried, and failed miserably. 

"Come on." Jan said softly, as if talking to a spooked deer in the middle of a smokey woods, his hand extended and fingers wriggling in invitation. Per hesitated, and then began walking slightly behind the rest of them. He was a solitary person by choice, or maybe not, but nobody was in much of a mood to try and get their vocalist to open up, if even slightly. 

Jørn would've thrown a hissy fit if the interior of his car were to be tainted by blood, so they spent a few moments out in the bitter, freezing cold, tending to the deep wounds on Per's arms. Øystein wasn't sure whether or not his help would be appreciated, since he wasn't actually very good with anything having to do with first aid, so it was up to Jan to procure bandages that he had brought from the cabin and wrapped them clumsily around the wounds, temporarily staunching the rather extreme blood flow. 

"Good? Good." Jan said, blowing onto his fingers to try and warm them back up as the invisible icy cold needles that were jabbing into his skin. 

Truth be told, Øystein wasn't much looking toward to being stuck in the sprawling cabin that always seemed too big for just the four of them. He liked the darkness, though, and appreciated how isolated it was. 

The cabin was surrounded by woods, dark and endless, a Norwegian wonderland filled with haunts and ghosts. Tall oak trees towered above them, their leaves and branches stretching towards the sky. Øystein sometimes wondered if people could get lost in those woods, if each direction started to look the same and the trees started to blend together until an unrecognizable mass. 

Sometimes, Øystein wondered if that was Per's goal whenever he went out there for his daily walks, or slept out there, or just wandered away from the safety of the cabin into the deep, dark night. 

Maybe Per was aiming for a sort of romanticized version of events - remembered through the books as the young, haunted, beautiful man who died in the woods, surrounded by the trees, protecting him like guards, guiding him through the night. 

Or maybe, one of these days, Per was just going to blow his fucking brains out. 

"How fucking poetic." Øystein muttered, gazing out the window, his chin resting on his hand as he thought. 

Jørn tilted his head toward Øystein, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. "Do I dare ask?" He said, carefully guiding the van through the rather rough terrain. 

Øystein scowled, though he wasn't completely sure about who the anger was directed it, whether it be himself or somebody else in this freezing van heading to nowhere and everywhere. "None of your fucking business." He spat out, like poison on his tongue. 

"Whoo, man." Jørn held up one of his hands in defense, leaning back against the door to put a little distance between them. "Just asking." 

It wasn't right, to just needlessly snap at people who didn't deserve such a thing done to them, but since when did Øystein start caring about that? He was a goddamn monster, and now, here he was, pining like a teenage girl and getting all melancholy over snapping at the bassist. 

And it was all Per's fault. 

Øystein couldn't help but blame the younger man for all of the recent happenings going on within the confines of his mind, and, not only that, but in his social life as well, which was admittedly lacking but, hey, at least Øystein had friends, unlike their loser of a vocalist. 

But then Øystein glanced behind his shoulder at the backseat, and caught sight of familiar wispy blonde hair, and felt a twisting within his heart, punctuated by the growing lust and...something else. 

Something else that growled like a wild animal, trapped, but not quite ready to give up the wild life yet. 

The road became progressively more bumpy as time went on, going from a gentle up-and-down to them being tossed around like ragdolls in a toy chest, scrambling for safety and trying to hold on while their world was being upended from the roots down. "Damn." Jan hissed when he hit his head against the top of the car, rubbing his head with a snarl fixated on his mouth, accentuating his sharp teeth. 

"Don't be a baby about it." Øystein said distractedly, frowning at the snow that was gathering near the ground. 

It was hardly unusual for it to be snowing - in fact, it was expected. This was Norway, after all, but Øystein really hated the snow, and the cold, and how it was always hard to walk through the thick white ice, especially with a guitar case adding to the weight. 

"Baby?" Jan repeated with an incredulous tone to his voice. "Who's being a baby?"

The van went over a particularly large rock, and the instruments in the way back shook against each other, clanging and banging. Øystein growled, his anger becoming like lava, spilling from the volcano. "Be careful, asshole!" He snarled. 

Jørn rolled his eyes. "Whose choice was it to move up here?" He said. 

Before an angry retort could be hurled, the cabin came into view, and the sight of its aged, yet beautiful charm was enough to calm their heightened tempers. 

They're moved there for peace during recording sessions, but with that peace came tension from being all cooped up in the same place for long weeks at a time. 

The van came a stop near the front door. 

Per was out as soon as he could, the moonlight catching in his eyes as he began to storm off into the woods. Well, _storm off_ perhaps wasn't the best word for the way that the blonde walked away, but the hunch to his shoulders surely meant something. 

"Oh, great." Jan moaned, watching as the vocalist disappeared into the trees as suddenly as he'd come, a stranger with no brightness to his pretty eyes. "He'll catch hypothermia out there, especially if he's gonna bury his fucking clothes again." 

Øystein swallowed his own worry. "He'll be fine." He said, despite the concern that was festering in his chest. ' _Damn Per, always driving everybody crazy right along with him.'_ He thought. 

There was no use lingering around, and so they all gathered outside and made their way into the cabin, which was cold. Icicles were forming on the upper part of the threshold of the door, and Øystein was half-worried that one of those sharp knives of ice would fall and hurt somebody, which was just yet another thing that was changing, a rapid cycle of things that didn't make sense anymore. 

Jan busied himself by turning on the heaters, his breathe visible in the bitter chill. 

The cabin was dark, lit only by the moonlight coming in from the parted curtains, but shadows still dancer in the brief, momentary light. Øystein sighed and rubbed his arms, willing the goosebumps to go away, but the mental image in his mind remained. 

Øystein didn't know why he was thinking of Per so often, or in such context, but the point of the matter was that this shouldn't be happening. ( _This is wrong) (He's a guy) (He's PER, he keeps dead animals in his fucking room, completely bonkers, why are you wasting your time?)_

Then again, this was the same Per who screamed his heart out on stage, who could transform thoughts into words and words into lyrics, who smiled so rarely yet so prettily. 

It was still fucked up, nonetheless. 

Jørn huffed, appearing in the kitchen with a rather disgruntled expression on his face. "It should start to get warmer in a few minutes." He said, rubbing his arms to try and preserve a little more body heat. "In the meantime, I'm gonna go take a shower. Did you know that getting naked and having hot water being poured all over you is quite beneficial to getting warm?" 

Øystein shook his head in negative. "How in the world does that matter?" He muttered, digging into the cupboards for the tea. 

It was going to be a long night, he could already tell. 

"Well, now you do." Jørn said, tilting his chin up before disappearing back through the hall, climbing the stairs without another word. 

Jan had effectively disappeared, but Øystein didn't spare him a second thought as he began to boil water, which wasn't a very smart idea but he needed something to warm him up, and tea sounded good, hot, fulfilling. 

While he waited for the water, Øystein grabbed his guitar case and set it on the table to make sure that it didn't get kicked around. He treasured that guitar, more than anything else in the world, and didn't want it getting scratched or bumped around by the three idiots who he had the absolute pleasure of calling his 'band mates'. 

It wasn't all doom and gloom, however, despite how much Øystein wanted it to be different. 

The band was doing well, and the actual members weren't fighting as much as usual, perhaps because they were too busy to care about those little things, like discarded shoes and alcohol bottles. 

Øystein made his tea and sat down at the table, looking out the window at the falling snow. 

Per was still out there. 

"Damn it." Øystein hissed, wincing as he sipped his tea too soon and burnt his tongue on the piping hot liquid, only adding to his woes. 

The feelings, as Øystein had begun to refer to them as, had been going on for several weeks now, but they'd been growing stronger... _much_ stronger, like an ever-present feeling in his body, humming like a bee, a constant vibration. Every single time that Øystein so much as glanced at Per, it produced a feeling so powerful, so vibrant, that it felt like a fire that'd been ignited deep within Øystein's stomach. 

It was both fantastic and terrifying. 

Øystein had never really _liked_ somebody before, but was that what these feelings really were? 

He dearly hoped not. 

The door opened and then closed, followed by the sound of the lock latching before footsteps became apparent on the creaking wood. A moment later, Per appeared, his blonde hair caked with mud and boots wet with snow. 

He was bleeding. 

However, it was impossible to know if they were from new wounds, or old. 

"Are you alright?" Øystein asked, setting down his mug, eyes roaming over the younger man's slender body. 

Per was wearing different clothes, though this wasn't unusual. "Yes." He mumbled with a nod, and he went to walk away. 

Øystein hurried to add something else. "Are you sure?" He asked for clarification, even though he knew that the answer would be the same. 

Scowling, Per crossed his scarred, bleeding arms defensively around his chest, an attempt at comfort, or perhaps safety. "Since when do you care?" He said, and then, like a creature into the night, he disappeared, making his way up to the safety of his room. 

Looking back down at his mug, Øystein couldn't help but agree. 

' _Since when do I care?'_


	2. Chapter 2

Øystein finished the rest of his tea, which had gradually began to chill in the bitter cold, and stood up, grabbing his guitar case on the way. 

He set the mug down beside the sink, figuring that he would just wash it the morning, and headed upstairs, not bothering to hide the sound of his footsteps. 

Besides, Øystein severely doubted that Jan nor Jørn would hear him, and although Per seemed to have an almost uncanny ability to hear the slightest noise, he wasn't one to be bothered be such a thing, nor confront someone, and so Øystein climbed the creaking stairs and made a beeline for his room, which had remained undisturbed for the last several hours, and was exactly as it'd been left, though Øystein wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. 

For a moment, Øystein considered taking a shower, but he was too tired, and his arms were aching, so he just settled for putting the guitar down beside his chair, and going to the bathroom. Øystein wiped the black and white makeup from his face with practiced ease, knowing how horrible it was to awaken in the morning with the makeup still caked on, and every time he forgot, it would be smeared onto his pillow and sheats, and Jørn would yell about it, and Øystein didn't take that kind of shit lying down. 

The makeup came off easily enough so that Øystein didn't need to spend much time staring at himself in the mirror, using a wet cloth to rid himself of the persona that he often put on for the crowd. It was always great, to see people standing there, knowing that the band was liked, but Øystein loathed the posers, loathed how many people attended just to pretend. 

That's what those pig heads were for, after all. They had needed some way to rid the crowd of people that didn't truly appreciate their music for what it really was, and it just so happened that their solution fit their occupation of darkness. 

With the makeup off, Øystein took off his shoes and shirt, but was too tired to do much else besides pull back the blankets on his bed and collapse onto the mattress, glad at once for the quiet that being in the middle of nowhere provided, even if such a thing often lead to arguments. 

Øystein would freely admit that he liked chaos, though not particularly tension, but if he was given the choice, and riled up enough, then everybody knew how angry that their guitarist could get. 

Hell, it was only a few weeks ago that Øystein had been playing synth music, a guilty pleasure of his, and Per has decided it to be so irritating for him that he went outside with his pillow and slept in the woods. Øystein had maybe gone too far with the shotgun, but Jørn was getting on his nerves and Jan wasn't helping matters and Per didn't give a damn if he bled out painfully, no, but synth music? Now _that_ was too much. 

Sometimes, Øystein wondered if Per could even feel pain. 

Øystein awoke to the sound of his alarm going off. 

He didn't even remember setting it. 

But it was an alarm, and it wouldn't shut off until somebody rolled over, so in an event that didn't partake just because Øystein was the only person in the actual room, he rolled over and slammed the button down on it, hard enough that the table beneath it shook with the force. Undoubtedly, the sound had traveled down through the flooring, but nobody complained about it. 

Rubbing his tired eyes, Øystein glanced out the window and stared out at the sun, which had fully risen above the horizon, and then at the clock, which read that it was barely past noon. 

There was no gig to get done, nothing important enough that Øystein had to wake up early for it, so the sleeping in late didn't matter. It was about time that he managed to get some good sleep in, anyways, without being interrupted by somebody or something. Usually, that 'something' was usually some sort of instrument, and that 'somebody' was Jørn, that stupid bastard, but this time, he had either been silenced by somebody, was still asleep, or just not in the mood. 

Øystein hoped that Jørn just wasn't in the mood, because a day without having to be bothered by the bassist was a day that Øystein had been looking toward to for years. 

Slipping out of bed, Øystein fumbled for a shirt and a new pair of socks before ultimately deciding that a shower could wait an hour or so. He was hungry, and it felt like something was actually gnawing on the inside of his stomach, which you could chalk up to Øystein just being dramatic, or he had a serious medical issue that needed fixed. 

"Ha, ha." Øystein breathed out, not amused in the slightest. 

He walked out into the hallway, taking a moment to glance at everybody's doors in turn, just to see. Per's was closed, and probably locked, and in turn, Jørn was also in his room. Jan's door was the only one that was open, and Øystein safely assumed that the drummer was already downstairs, judging by the faint sounds of clattering that he could hear. 

Walking down the stairs, Øystein could smell something meaty being cooked, a rather good smell, like a barbecue. He walked down into the kitchen, and his stomach grumbled loudly at the right of Jan in the kitchen, standing over the sausages that he was cooking on the stove. The heat was warming up the cabin slightly, and the kitchen was blessedly warm when Øystein stood in the threshold and watched the drummer turn one of the links over. 

"I would say good morning, but I fear that you would smack me." Jan said, barely looking up from his task at hand. 

Øystein looked into the pan, reached over, and grabbed the fork, jabbing a sausage and walking away in a single fluid movement. "Yes, you feared right." He said, sitting down at the dining table and biting into the juicy meat. It was burnt slightly, but that was just the way that Øystein liked it. 

"You cheeky bastard." Jan said in a scandalized tone. 

The curtains had been pulled open, allowing for Øystein to look out the window as he chewed the sausage. The snow had stopped falling, although the ground was covered with a thick layer of ice, and Øystein couldn't help but shiver just looking at it all. The trees that led into the woods were struggling with the added sight as the snow lay atop of the branches, and a fox was prattling away away, its orange and white fur immediately identifiable in the sea of brightness. 

By a stark contrast, the inside of the cabin was dark, gloomy, and somewhat dilapidated after years of being left to rot before they'd stumbled upon it. There had been dead insects and broken glass and cobwebs, most of the time in the most inconspicuous places, and in the deep corners, some of them still remained. 

But despite that, it was home. 

"Did you leave your mug in the sink last night?" Jan asked, one of his hands on his hip like a mother complaining about yet another mess. He was frowning like one, too, which only made Øystein feel like a child again, except he didn't respect the drummer nearly as much as he respected his mother, and only smirked at the accusation. 

"Yes, _aannndd?"_ Øystein said, purposefully dragging out the last word to grate on his friend's nerves. The food seemed to have revived him in a way, and far from irritated, he now felt playful. 

Jan huffed out a sigh. "You're a teenager, Jørn's a teenager, Pelle's a teenager - I am the only adult in this house, it seems." He shook his head, but there was a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, and a comfortable silence fell over the kitchen. 

Footsteps rumbled on the stairs, and Øystein barely managed to shove the rest of his sausage in his mouth before Jørn appeared and grabbed the plate from Jan, who threw his hands in the air. 

"Oh, f'ck off." Jørn said, angling his body and the plate away when Jan scrambled to retrieve his food. 

Øystein rolled his eyes, wondering why those two were even part of a band such as theirs. They were supposed to be dark and dangerous, like the clouds and lightning before a rainstorm, but here the drummer and bassist were - fighting over sausages. "You two are fucking idiots, I swear." He shook his head. 

"So why don't you replace us?" Jørn asked, scowling in defeat when the plate ended up back in the arms of Jan, who grinned in his success. 

Jan wiggled his finger. "Don't give him any ideas." He advised. 

"Because we already had a hard enough time trying to get a vocalist." Øystein said, staring back out the window. The fox had disappeared, and in its place were a set of small footsteps that would later be covered by the snow when it started to fall again. "And look where that got us."

 _'Attractive as hell, talented to a fault, and crazier than a bloody canary.'_ Øystein thought, amused despite himself at the thought. He shouldn't be feeling this way, not only another man, but about his bandmate. It didn't make sense, and yet, here they were. 

There had been a time, back when these feelings had first reared their head, a sort of reluctance had overtaken Øystein to accept them. Nowadays, he hadn't necessarily accepted the feelings, but didn't actually hate them. He had never felt such a way towards somebody, beyond just lust. 

"Speaking of which..." Jan narrowly dodged another attempt from Jørn at getting the plate. "I'm going to check on him." 

Øystein tried to ignore the wave of relief that came at those words, knowing that somebody besides him would do and check that their resident nutcase hadn't done anything risky during the night. "Tell him to come down. I want to do a rehearsal later, alright?" 

Jørn groaned audibly. "Not _again!"_

But no amount of complaining or moaning or groaning would convince Øystein to anything otherwise, and Jørn must've known this, because he said nothing else. 

Jan walked out of the kitchen and walked up the stairs with the plate in hand, unsure about what he was going to see behind that door, and maybe a little afraid of that uncertainty. He didn't want to walk into that room and be met with the sight of his friend who had slit his wrists and died alone. 

Thankfully, when Jan gave a cursory knock on the door and then twisted the knob to let himself in, the sight he was greeted with wasn't one of blood and death, but merely just a young blonde, sketching in his notebook. 

Per wordlessly tilted the notebook toward Jan, and showed the drummer what he'd been drawing - some sort of black creature with horns, similar to the wendigo of legends from years gone by. It was hardly the most disturbing sight, but it still made Jan shiver. "I like it." He said, lying through his very teeth. 

After a moment, Per glanced at the plate, and then shook his head firmly. 

"Pelle, you're not going to be able to get up on stage if you don't eat." Jan said, hating how responsible he was having to be in the face of everything. He never thought that there would have to be a time when he would have to be convincing a band member to eat. 

"I'm not hungry." Per replied, like it was really that simple. 

Jan knew why the vocalist was refusing to eat, and it was a case of wanting to look as much like a dead person as possible. It was why Per insisted on being called 'Dead', because he wanted so desperately to be just like his namesake. 

Did Per really think he was dead? Jan hoped not. 

That would be fucking crazy. 

"Okay." Jan relented, setting the plate down on Per's nightstand, on top of one of those cheesy Dracula comics that he seemed to like so much. "Just a little bit, please. And Øystein wants us to rehearse later today, so come down later." He said, hoping that the vocalist would listen to him. 

Per nodded, but he was already back to sketching, his tongue between his teeth, obviously having gone back to his own little world. 

Jan lingered for a moment, unsure of his position. The room was dark, and it smelled strongly of rot and decay, though he'd long grown used enough to the horrid combination that it didn't bother him anymore - at least, not badly enough to trigger his gag reflex. It was a strangely tidy room, all things considered, but things hid in the corners, death under the bed, and Dead atop of the covers. 

He left, and closed the door behind him. 

Øystein tapped his fingers on the table. 

Already having moved on from the earlier spat, Jørn was now searching the cabinets for something to eat, but, as usual, there was nothing but a few cans with the labels torn off and a bag of bread that was hardened but not yet moldy. 

The search in the fridge proved equally fruitless. "The milk's chunky." Jørn said with a frown, examining the gallon with a skeptical gaze. 

Øystein grimaced. "We need to go shopping." 

But they weren't exactly known for their domestic attributes, were they? The dust gathering on bookshelves proved that. Jan appeared, breathless from having jogged down the stairs, brushing his long hair away from his face. "Throw that away." He said to Jørn, and then - "He didn't eat the sausage. I left it up there for him, just in case." 

"Of course." Øystein rolled his eyes, irritated at the singer's petulance regarding such basic care for himself. He shouldn't care so much about Per, but he couldn't help it. 

A sudden chill swept through the cabin, but something about it seemed otherworldly. Øystein had conflicting feelings regarding the supernatural, but ever since Per had joined the band, something that didn't seem mortal always seemed to hang around them. 

It made sense, after all. Per had similar feelings regarding his own life and mortality, which only added to the worries regarding his mental health. Per had an amazing voice, and he was exactly what they needed - dark, dangerous, a demon on stage. 

But, sometimes, Øystein worried about whether or not it was worth it - the constant threat of suicide loomed over everybody's heads. But yet, Per was so damn entrancing, and nobody could get enough of him. Even when Øystein got irritated with the younger man, there was something that kept drawing them all back. 

And Øystein didn't know if it was because of those pretty blue eyes, or the darkness inside. 


	3. Chapter 3

Øystein quickly knocked on the door. "Up and out, Pelle!" He yelled, walking back into his room before a response, if any, came. 

The guitar case was sitting against the wall, right where Øystein had left it the night before, and he opened it. It was time for rehearsal, which took place in the basement every few days. Øystein was insistent on doing it as routine, even though it really wasn't needed, since it was unlikely that their skills would get rusty in just the few week timespan between their gigs. 

Thinking back to the previous night, Øystein remembered how the crowd had chanted like a cult, straight from the bowels of Hell. He remembered how the blood had dripped onto the stage, and how Per had raised his free arm up into the air. 

The crowd had wanted more. 

But then Øystein thought back to the dazed look on Per's face, and how pasty white his skin had looked. As much as Øystein didn't want to think about that moment, how, just for a second, Per had looked like he was about to faint, he couldn't stop. Øystein shouldn't care about Per beyond the fact that they were part of the same band, but he did. 

Oh, how Jan and Jørn would tease him endlessly if they knew. 

Øystein shivered. ' _They'd probably do a lot more.'_ He thought, grabbing the guitar and slinging it around his body before leaving the room again. Per's door was open, evidently having made his grand escape when Øystein had been stuck in his thoughts. 

Back downstairs, in the basement, Jan was getting his drum kit set up. 

The basement was dark and cramped, and possibly the only place in the cabin that provided warmth. Jan always got a weird feeling when they were down in there, a sense of foreboding that creeped up his spine and infected his brain, but he always chalked it up to childhood myths about monsters under the stairs that grabbed your ankle if you weren't fast enough. 

Jørn looked up from his guitar. "Has Øystein been acting odd to you?" He asked in a moment of rare clarity. 

Frowning, Jan attempted to try and direct Jørn onto a semi-new topic of conversation. "I'm surprised you noticed anything beyond your own existence." He said, but the jab didn't work as intended. 

Jørn merely waved the response away, as if it was a bothersome fly. "No, no, I'm being serious. Øystein has been acting weird, and surely, I'm not the only one that noticed it." He said with a tone of seep conviction, clearly not about to let it go. 

The stairs dreamed ominously, and Per appeared, his blonde hair effectively covering his face. 

"Pelle!" Jørn said in a loud tone, and Jan winced as the vocalist stumbled, caught off guard by the bassist. "Have you noticed that Øystein has been acting weird?" 

Per looked grim. "No." He said simply. 

"Are you sure?" Jørn asked, and Jan nearly told him to let it go. Whether or not their leader was acting weird wasn't a real concern, because, more than likely, it would pass just as quickly as it'd appeared. "Because he hasn't been are irritable as usual. Maybe he's sick." 

Jan snorted out an incredulous laugh. "Sick?" He repeated, twirling his drumsticks absent-mindedly. For some reason, such a possibility seemed out of the question. "Wouldn't he be snapping our necks like chickens if he was sick?" 

Joining the half-circle of instruments and band members, Per picked up the microphone. "He's been acting normal." He said just as their subject of conversation rounded the corner and descended the stairs quickly, guitar in hand. 

Øystein could immediately tell that something was wrong as soon as he walked down into the basement. Jørn immediately turned away and focused on his guitar, while Jan flushed deeply, his pale face growing red. 

Meanwhile, Per only focused on setting up the amps. 

"What?" Øystein demanded, his voice sharp and cutting, just like a knife. He paused on the last step on the stairs and observed his band mates with a suspicious gaze in his eyes. They'd been talking about him, Øystein knew, but he didn't know why, and that annoyed him most of all. 

Jan smiled nervously. "Nothing, nothing. Let's just get on with this, shall we?" He suggested, avoiding eye contact as if it would kill him. 

For a moment, Øystein considered not letting it go and demanding answers, but, in the end, he decided to just get on with this life. It wasn't worth an argument that would likely extend for weeks. He got into his designated position without complaint, but filed away his suspicious thoughts for later. 

They could talk, talk, talk all they wanted, but they would still be under his watchful leadership. Øystein called all the shots, and had the ominous presence that, in the end, made everybody confess their secrets. 

Glancing briefly at Per, Øystein was glad to note that the younger man seemed a lot more lively than he had been the previous night - or, at least, as much as somebody nicknamed 'Dead' could be. 

Jørn turned to Jan, unnoticed, and mouthed - "See?" 

By comparison, Jan rolled his eyes. 

Øystein cleared his throat, and the next twenty minutes were spent trying to get all of the equipment in place. It was a cramped space, and so it was hard to get everybody into their respective positions with room to spare. As usual, Jan was in the back with his drum kit, right below the one and only window that provided a semblance of light, as small as it was. 

Jørn was to the left, fiddling with his bass, looking deep in thought. Øystein considered making a joke at the other man's expense, but ultimately didn't. They needed to rehearse, and nobody could focus on their playing when an argument was happening. 

Standing to the right, Øystein stepped over some of the twisting, winding cords that were tangled on the floor. He noticed a heavy smell of rot, and glanced at Per, who was undeniably the source of the smell. 

' _He better not have that dead bird with him.'_ Øystein thought, resisting the urge to cover his nose. 

"Are we ready?" Jan asked, his drumsticks hovering above his kit. 

Øystein gave the thumbs-up. 

The permission was given, and the hell had begun, a torrential reigning of what would come. Jan started playing the beginning of _Freezing Moon,_ and the sound echoed throughout the cabin, seeping through the winter wonderland outside and turning it into a fierce hellscape. 

A moment passed, and then another. Per seemed to prepare himself for the incoming screaming, and he took a deep breathe. For somebody so delicate, Per sounded so demonic, a voice coming from deep within the inner pits of hell, guttural and rough, like that a true corpse. 

Øystein loved it. 

_THIS_ was Mayhem. 

For a few minutes in time, Øystein lost himself in the scream of Per's voice, and nothing else seemed to matter except for their own little hell, created and formed through blood and screams. 

_THIS_ was their nightmare. 

Jørn stumbled over the cords, and a loud, bloodcurdling screech echoed throughout the basement, originating from the amps. Jan stopped drumming in favor of throwing his hands over his ears, though it didn't really help much against the noise. 

"Oh, fuck!" Øystein yelled, torn between covering his ears or going to go solve the problem. Since Per had settled for the war option, Øystein braved what sounded like a tortured cat and shuffled through the layers of cords in order to find the amp in distress. 

Øystein found it after a long minute, and as his head began to throb in warning of an incoming headache, he managed to unplug it. 

The sound was cut off immediately. 

"Holy fuck, that was awful." Jan said, rubbing the side of his head, as if he'd been hit there. "Jørn, you bloody idiot!" He then said, not quite angry but definitely edging towards that emotion. 

The bassist raised his hands in defense. "It's Øystein's fault! He should've done a better job with handling the cords!" He said, pointing his finger straight at the guitarist, who was about ready to show how much of a raging devil he really could be. 

"Asshole." Øystein snarled. 

Per sighed. "How about it's everybody's fault?" He said, trying to make peace in the only way he knew how, but nobody heard his soft, scratchy voice in the ensuing chaos. 

Just as the words fell onto the empty air, Jørn tossed one of the spare drumsticks at Øystein, who narrowly ducked just as the drumstick hit the wall with a small thumping noise. Jan immediately stood up and grabbed the bassist in an attempt to calm him down, and also to prevent Øystein from pummeling him. 

Øystein growled from deep in his throat. "Do that again, but this time without the drummer to protect you." He stepped toward in silent threat, but knew that there was nothing to be done. 

"Oh, shut up." Jan groaned, trying to keep Jørn from lunging like some sort of monkey. 

For a moment or two, they all stood there, trading angry glances and feeling as the tension became so thick that they could cut it with a knife. And then Øystein smiled, which offset the previous look of harshness.

"You're such an idiot, Jørn. Sometimes, I wonder why I even let you be in this band." Øystein said with a small chuckle. 

Jørn laughed. "Because good bassists are hard to find!" He replied. 

Looking between the other two men, Jan rolled his eyes, exasperated by the show of back-and-forth, and how suddenly they seemed to go from angry to friends yet again. "I don't know why I bother." He said, trading a smile with Per, who attempted to return the affection, but it don't quite match up. 

"Alright. C'mom, men." Øystein motioned in the air. "Let's take it from the top." 


	4. Chapter 4

It was crazy, really, what they could accomplish when they put their minds to it. 

Øystein rolled his shoulders, wincing as the strap of his guitar dug into his shoulder. "That was good." He admitted, somewhat sheepish because of his previous doubting. Øystein could freely admit that, maybe, he was a little hard on the band, but all he wanted was some type of success, and to not feel like every day was just one step closer to failure and admittance that this was all just some horrible dream. 

With a grin, Jørn knocked Jan with his shoulder. "See? I told you." He said proudly, clearly having won some type of bet. 

Jan rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes." He said, waving Jørn away. There was only so much that he could take of the bassist in one day, after all. However, they would undoubtedly be stuck together for quite some time, seeing as how they were in the same band, after all. 

Far from proud, Per was frowning - though this wasn't much reason for concern, since he never seemed to smile without a good reason, anyways. "Are you sure?" 

Øystein looked at the blonde with furrowed eyebrows. "What do you mean?" He asked for clarification. Usually, Per seemed glad to be able to retreat back into the solitude of his room, or perhaps the woods, but now, he was lingering, as if he didn't quite want to leave. 

"Well." Per looked like he was quite referring having spoken. "Are you sure, that we were good?" He raised his eyebrows in curiosity, still holding onto the mic stand while staring intently at Øystein, who felt himself shiver at the piercing gaze. 

" _Yes,_ I'm sure." Øystein said. "We were fine." But perhaps not everything was okay, seeing as how Per was acting much more strangely than usual. 

But, not one to fight, Per just nodded, and walked away, climbing the old, ageing stairs and disappearing onto the first floor. The sound of him walking could be heard for a few moments afterwards. 

"What's up with him?" Jørn glanced at the other two with a questioning gaze in his eyes. He pulled his guitar up and over his head so he could set it back in its case with gentle hands that were deceptive to his overall excitable nature. 

Jan snorted. "What's never _not_ up with him?" He said, standing up and stretching so he could crack his back with an exhausted groan. 

Øystein didn't answer, and only looked at the stairs that Per had climbed only a moment earlier. He had purposefully been avoiding having to think about the blonde, but now that there was nothing to hold him back, all of those thoughts came rushing like a tidal wave. 

Having such thoughts about another man was practically taboo, and Øystein, who always lived on the edge of allowance when it came to social normalcy, just wanted go be normal when it came to sexuality. Or, rather, not even interested in anybody at all! 

Even worse than having thoughts about another man was having thoughts about a literal psycho who Øystein only had in the band because his voice was incredible. 

"I'm going to go for a walk." Øystein suddenly announced without being prompted, lifting his guitar over his head and placing it inside of the case. He would put it inside of his room later - at that moment, he needed to be alone with hid tumultuous thoughts, and the conflicting feelings within his head. 

Jørn opened his mouth, undoubtedly about to ask for an explanation, but Jan beat him to the punch. "Alright. Be safe." Jan said, bending down to begin unplugging the amps. 

Øystein climbed the stairs, wincing as he grasped the railing and a small splinter found a home in the palm of his hands. Øystein looked down at the miniscule little thing, and pulled at it with his fingernails as he pulled on his coat, put a pair of his boots on, and stepped outside into the bitterly cold air. It was snowing again quite heavily, Øystein noticed. 

"Oh, great." Øystein muttered, debating on whether or not to just go back inside but deciding against it. He needed some peace and quiet, and that wouldn't be achieved around Jørn nor Jan, so Øystein climbed down the stairs and, still tugging on the splinter, started walking aimlessly. 

There was nowhere, really, to go, and nowhere, really, to be. The woods were dark and impossible to see through, like something from an old fairytale that Øystein's mother used to read to him when he was a young child and still believing in those stupid tales of found love and happy-ever-after's. 

In reality, no such thing was possible, and that was becoming increasingly evident as more and more time passed. 

Øystein was different from his family in many ways - his hair, his looks, his personality, and despite their reservations toward it, they'd accepted him. Øystein had been accepted by his happy, loving, blonde-haired family, and although he acted like nothing bothered him, Øystein was glad for those inches of tentative support, even if he didn't quite know how to express it. 

Round balls of snow were falling from the clear blue sky, and falling to the ground with slow leisure. Ice crunched underneath Øystein's boots, and the sound became the only one in the air. In the distance, a fat raccoon seemed to be scavenging around near some trees, its little black eyes keen as it tracked each and every movement that Øystein made as he approached. 

But Øystein wasn't in the mood to bother little woodland animals, and he walked without care, until he was surrounded by the bare trees, covered by the bright, white snow. There was a bird chirping, and a small burrow could be seen at the base of a dead tree. Øystein sighed, wondering what would've happened if he'd decided to be just like his parents. 

He cringed at the very thought. 

Death, darkness, and destruction were the only things that Øystein cared for, and the only things that made sense. He loved the dark edges of society, and didn't care for anything else. It was only to be figured that Øystein might've fallen in love with a woman who shared his passions, albeit not as fiercely, because, otherwise, their personalities would clash too badly. 

Per was also in love with the dark, and his passions could simply be described as dangerous and quite demented. However, he was a _man,_ and not a man that could be seen in any type of relationship, romantic or otherwise. Øystein didn't even get along with him, really. So, there, that was settled. 

Or it should've been, except Øystein had these feelings in his chest that didn't make sense, and whenever he thought of Per, he began to feel an odd tingly feeling in his stomach. Per was handsome, of course, anybody could agree with that - but Øystein saw something much _more._

Coming to a slow stop, Øystein cursed his emotions. Maybe he could've dealt with being attracted to men, but _Per?_ Oh, the horror. 

A sudden noise startled Øystein, and he whirled around, scanning the woods for anybody, animal or otherwise. Wolves were common in the area, but they never approached humans, especially in the daytime. 

' _Damn it. I should've taken the gun.'_ Øystein thought when the possibility of an animal being nearby got too realistic. He was, after all, a ways away from the cabin, and civilization in general. 

But then a flash of movement caught his eye, and Øystein turned, only to see a dreadfully familiar person in the distance, partially covered by the trees, but still visible in the snowy wasteland. 

It was Per, because of course, Øystein could never escape the damned man. 

Then again, Øystein should've expected it. 

Per was sitting on a fallen tree that, after years and years, was now just a log. A small pond had frozen over, and Per had a knife - probably the same one that he carried everywhere - and was scraping it along the ice, creating a rather irritating noise that rang throughout the cold air. He was only wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, so how he wasn't freezing to death was a mystery. 

Maybe he wasn't human, after all. 

There were patches of dried blood on the sleeves of the shirt, and Øystein had no problem figuring out where they'd come from. He sighed, wondering why Per always seemed to determined to end his life. 

It was such a stupid thing to do. 

And yet, Øystein wasn't surprised. 

Per tilted his head up toward, and he opened his mouth. 

Why he so stupidly entrancing? There was something about Per that made him seem so otherworldly, like he was never meant to have been put on this planet of existence. Øystein was reminded of that story that Per always told - about the time he died. 

Maybe, just maybe, when Per had been revived that fateful day, he hadn't come back right. 


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed throughout the chilled woods. 

Birds took flight from their positions on the thin branches of tree, disappearing into the air in a flurry of movement. A nearby deer rose up from its hiding place and took off. Øystein flinched and wrenched his head toward the cabin, where the noise had come from, undoubtedly. The shotgun had gone off - now several questions remained, and few of them were good. 

From his place on the log, Per stood up, and without glancing behind him, started walking through the twigs, catching his jeans in the bushes and ripping them without a care. "Are you coming?" He said, glancing behind his shoulder briefly, but not fast enough for Øystein to miss that very temporary, and very uncharacteristic, look of concern. 

Øystein scowled, angered that he'd been seen, but instead of lingering around, he followed Per back toward the cabin, which was a ways away. Øystein hadn't been aware of how far they'd walked, and every place looked the exact same to him, which essentially meant that there were so many trees, the average person would probably get lost and die. 

However, Per seemed to know exactly where he was going. "What do you think they were shooting at?" He asked. 

Øystein hurried to keep up with the long pace. "I don't know. Probably a fox or some stupid shit." He replied. Øystein grunted as his jacket got caught on a branch, but he wrenched it free and started having to jump over brambles, fearing getting pricked. 

Far from concerned about that, Per brushed on by. "I hope they'll let me keep it." 

"Oh, you sick fuck." Øystein was grinning, though, oddly amused. "Why do you like being out here so much? It's like the Antarctic out there." The question was unexpected. 

Per shrugged casually. "It makes me feel." He said, and before Øystein could ask what he meant, he jogged ahead easily, gifted by the advantage of long legs. 

The cabin loomed in the distance, still derelict despite the upkeep and maintenance that everybody had been pitching in on. Jørn was standing on the porch with the shotgun angled down toward the ground, and Jan was standing on the snow, shaking his head. 

Øystein decided to take that as a good sign. 

They got to stable ground, enough so that Øystein was able to take a lead on Per and sprint across the yard. "What the fuck were you two shooting at?!" He yelled. 

"Me? Hell no. That idiot up there was doing all the shooting." Jan pointed up towards Jørn, who snarled angrily, like some sort of imitation of a wolf. 

Jørn huffed. "Tattletale." He muttered, like a pitiful child who hadn't gotten his way, betrayed by a sibling. Øystein almost found it amusing, except he was too angry to do anything more than stare at the gun, and then at the woods. 

"I ask again - what were you two shooting at?" Øystein demanded sharply, looking back at the woods, as if to see a wounded fox, or something equally nefarious. 

"A wolf. It was alone, but it was too fast." Jørn said, setting the shotgun up against the wall before walking down the stairs, holding the tailing as he descended. "Bloody thing looked like it had mange." He walked over and came to a stop next to Jan, who was squinting up at the sun. 

Per looked disappointed by the news of no new animal corpse. "Pity." He muttered, kicking at the snow with his boots. "Wolves are beautiful." Per almost seemed to consider his words, hands on his hips, head tilted up slightly. 

Unsure of how to respond, Øystein settled for sighing, rolling his eyes at the things he had to deal with. "Let's get inside, then, before the whole fucking pack comes." He said, deciding that he'd had enough of the snow to last him until the next day he had to take a trip outside. 

Which probably wouldn't be soon - the cabin was stocked up, just in case a snowstorm. 

Nobody argued with that, and they all climbed the stairs, one after another, like a bunch of obedient children. Øystein focused on picking the splinters from his hand, but he stilled when he noticed that Per was lagging behind, somewhat, and he'd reached out, and those pale, slender fingers were dragging lightly along the shotgun, almost yearningly, as if he wanted for nothing more than to take it into his hands and blow his head off. 

The threat of Per decided it off himself once and for all was constant, and left everybody confused and exhausted, wondering when they would open a door or return home to find a bloody corpse. A small part of Øystein was sure that Per would return home to Sweden when that time came - Per frequently suffered from homesickness regarding his home country. 

Or maybe he wouldn't want to put his family through that. 

Perhaps, Per would find a nice, secluded spot and do it there. 

Øystein shivered at the thought, and frowned at the sudden wave of grief that washed over him at the thought of Per killing himself. ' _It's natural. We're friends, after all. Maybe not close friends, but friends, nonetheless.'_ Øystein knew that his reassurances were bitter lies. 

"C'mon." Øystein said quietly, and Per looked up, his eyes wide from behind his long, blonde hair, started, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "It's too cold to linger." 

Per nodded, and Øystein watched as he disappeared back inside of the cabin. 

Looking back at the shotgun, Øystein could feel the implications of Per's lingering gaze surrounding it. He knew that Per was not above blowing his brains out, even if his preferred method was much, much different. 

Øystein thought back to the woods, and how Per has just been sitting out there, alone and disconnected from society. But then the 'phone started ringing and everybody else had suddenly decided to play hide and seek, so Øystein grunted and walked into the cabin, shutting the door firmly behind him, not bothering to shake out his coat or take off his boots before he walked across the foyer and picked the 'phone up from the receiver. 

"Yes?" Øystein said patiently, tapping his foot on the ground, hearing Jørn as he yelled something inaudible from the basement, probably at Jan, who responded in a low, even tone. 

A man's voice answered. "Hello. This is Mr. Ohlin, please put my son on." He said.

Startled, Øystein looked down at the 'phone, temporarily confused until his mind managed to put the words together properly. _Per. Dead. Ohlin._ "Oh, right." He said, temporarily considering saying that Per was outside or not available, but then remembered the panic that'd occurred as result - Mr. Ohlin had been waiting outside of the cabin just a few hours later, wanting to see Per on account of worrying about a suicide attempt. _Damn Swedes._

 _Ø_ ystein pulled away from the 'phone. "PELLE! Your father wants to talk to you." He yelled, hoping that the requests wouldn't be ignored. The last thing that they needed was another surprise visit. A moment later, footsteps sounded. "He's coming." Øystein told Mr. Ohlin. 

"Thank you." Mr. Ohlin replied. 

It was no secret that Per's parents didn't like what their son was doing, whether it be to himself or with his life. They wanted him to do something - _anything_ else, and on his visits, Mr. Ohlin liked to bring college catalogues so that he and Per could go through them and see what other places had to offer. 

Øystein handed the 'phone off to Per. "Thanks." Per said, accepting it and pressing it to his ear, brushing away his hair so that he could hear properly. "Hello, Papa. Yes, I'm doing well, how are you?" 

Listening vaguely to the conversation, Øystein made his way into the kitchen as his stomach growled in complaint of hunger. He rooted through the cabinets and unveiled a box of crackers, just as Per let out a quiet laugh in response to something that his father said. Øystein rarely ever heard Per laugh, and the sound made his chest suddenly grow warm, as if a fire had been lit within. 

' _Oh, fuck, I'm doomed.'_


	6. Chapter 6

As Øystein lingered in the kitchen like some sort of stalker, he listened as Per talked to his father with strange cheerfulness that he never exhibited toward anybody else, not that such a thing could be blamed. They were a band, after all, and Øystein was always going around, scowling in disapproval to anybody who didn't seem to fit the mood of their music. 

' _Perhaps, you're being quite dramatic.'_ Øystein thought as he pulled a pot from one of the cupboards and set it down on the oven. He found a jar of soup and opened it, dumping it into the pot as Per started talking about a lake he'd apparently found during one of his recent excursions to the woods. 

The broth boiled and bubbled as the oven heat up, and Øsytein watched as steam began to rise up. 

"Oh, yes. Very pretty." Per said from the other room. "Like the one we went to when I was a child, with all of the fish." 

Øystein felt himself roll his eyes - for some reason, the thought of Per being the sort of child who enjoyed outings to lakes to watch the fish was odd. Øystein just couldn't imagine Per being a child, and especially couldn't imagine him being a happy one. 

Thinking back, Øystein could remember the few snippets of information that Per had shared with him about his life back in Sweden. Per had told him that, when he was younger, he'd been bullied severely by the other kids, and one of those incidents of beatings had nearly cost him his life. 

Had this been before, or after that? 

"No, we've been fine. It's very cold here." Per continued. "Well, you were here during the summer. In the winter, it feels like frostbite is always one step away." 

Øystein couldn't help but smirk at that as he poured his steaming hot soup into a bowl, looking foward to warm up his insides after spending so much time outside. For somebody who had spent all of his life in Norway, Øystein wasn't very good at being willful against the cold. 

But the soup was hot, and even though it burned Øystein's tongue and throat, it felt like fire in his stomach, and he smiled, pleased. 

"How's Mama?" Per asked. 

For some reason, the idea of Per having parents also seemed weird. 

Øystein decided that enough was enough and, with the use of his shirt, he grabbed the bowl and shuffled into the living room. The television was an old hand-me-down from his mother, which broadcasted an awe-worthy ten channels, but it wasn't like Øystein had anything else to do, anyways, so he sat down on the sofa and turned on the television, briefly flicking through the channels before coming onto the one movie channel that they had and settling into it. 

The movie seemed to be a thriller, however, Øystein had come upon it in the middle of the climax, and was now watching as a woman hid inside of a bathroom, quivering in fear. ' _Pathetic.'_ Øystein thought as he took a mouthful of his soup, which had cooled down quickly. 

Abruptly, Jørn appeared, hanging over the back of the couch, all dark hair and wild eyes. "What are you watching?" He asked. 

"None of your business." Øystein replied quickly, not bothering to be polite because he really didn't want to deal with the bassist at that moment. 

However, nobody had ever accused Jørn of being smart, and so, despite the cold tone of Øystein's voice, Jørn fell onto the couch and nearly made Øystein spill the soup onto his lap. "Bastard." Øystein muttered, angling himself away so that the bassist couldn't get to his food. 

"You're one to talk!" Jan shouted from the kitchen. "Oh, damn, did you take the last can of soup?" He peered across the room, squinting to see. "Oh, well. I needed to go shopping, anyways " 

Even thought Jørn was obscuring most of his vision with his big head, Øystein could see that, presumably having gotten of the 'phone with his father, Per was quickly walking up the stairs. He looked keen not to be noticed, ducking into the darkness as soon as he could, disappearing like he'd never been there at all. 

Øystein frowned, wondering why Per never seemed to be able to stand more than a few minutes around them when they weren't on stage. It was probably because of Per's reclusive nature, but Øystein couldn't help but wonder if Per just didn't like them. 

' _And why do you care?'_ Øystein thought. ' _You CANNOT get feelings for your vocalist. No way.'_

But it was too late, and in the deepest, darkest corners of Øystein's mind, he knew full and well that he'd fallen, and now he couldn't get back up, couldn't crawl out of the hole. He was in too deep, and now he had to find his way back out. 

But how? 

Quickly, Øystein finished his soup and stood up, abandoning Jørn to stare at the television, walking into the kitchen and setting his bowl beside the sink to be washed later that night. Jan was eating an apple and reading the newspaper that he had, presumably, bought the last time he'd went to town, since it wasn't delivered so far into the woods. 

"Hey, wait." Jan hurried to intercept Øystein before he could leave. "I have something to ask you." 

Øystein frowned. "What?" He asked, not knowing why the drummer would want to speak to him. He briefly went through a list in his head, but he hadn't forgotten to do anything that Jan had asked of him, which, admittedly, wasn't a lot. "Is it important?" 

For a moment, Jan paused, and seemed to consider that question, biting his bottom lip in thought. "Depends on your definition." He eventually said. "It may just be me but - are you and Per - okay?" 

There wasn't an immediate reaction from Øystein as the words sunk in, like they were sinking into a crate of molasses. He didn't understand the question, as if it had been spoken in another language, but then he did, and a shiver crawled up his spine, like fingers against his bones. "Yes. Why?" Øystein felt the first creepings of panic, even though there was no reason for such a thing. 

Jan sighed heavily. "No real reason. It's just that you've been acting strange around Per, and I know that he's, well..." He trailed off, unsure, or perhaps uneilling to say the truth. 

"Strange?" Øystein prompted. "Freaky? Demented? Crazy? There's millions of words to describe him, you can't just choose one. And we're fine." He didn't care to discuss it further for fear of something else being said that couldn't be known by anybody, much less Jan. 

Deep down, Øystein knew that Jan was a good guy, but people were unpredictable, and nobody could be trusted with such a secret. But as Øystein climbed the stairs, he couldn't help but wonder how he was going to navigate the minefield of emotions and secrets, especially with the already troublesome life that he was leading. 

The door to Per's bedroom was shut, and probably locked, shielding the blonde from everybody and anybody. 

Øystein paused, hesitating, hating how weak he was becoming, but raising his fist, and lightly knocking the door, listening to the hollow sound, but no response came. 

Surprise, surprise - Øystein was glad, because he had no idea what he was even going to say, and didn't know why, in the first place, he even knocked. This whole thing was wreaking havoc in his mind, and Øystein couldn't help but groan miserably as he walked into his bedroom. 

It was surprisingly warm, and Øsyetin was pleased to notice that he didn't shiver as he undressed and turned on the shower so he didn't have to the next day. A small part of him wondered if he was finally becoming used to the cold that'd plagued him since childhood. 

Then again, Øystein found his thoughts occupied by Per, and it was making him feel as sorts of things that no man should've felt for another. 

Øystein shut his eyes tightly as images of a certain blonde flashed through his head. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the complete and utter lack of updates. My mental health has been shit lately.

Øystein was dreaming. 

Far from the usual dreams that he had, Øystein's dreams revolved around a bright sun that was shining down upon them, and a faint voice, quiet and almost shy, gentle. Øystein could feel a pale hand on his arm, and then a shushing noise could be heard. 

And then he woke up. 

For a moment, Øystein wondered why he'd been pulled from the dredges of sleep, and wondered if perhaps he'd heard a wolf howl in the distance - the same one, maybe, that Jørn had been shooting at like an idiot. Øystein frowned, his eyesight hazy as he slowly pushed himself up with his arms, looking around the room, wondering what had awoken him. 

Øystein jumped, a half-yell caught in his throat, words suddenly failing him as the sight and, ultimately, what had awoken him, became suddenly clear. " _Pelle?"_ He hissed, teeth gritted, suspicious and with the temporary feelings of fear disappearing from his body, although dread slowly coursed through his veins like a drug. 

The room was dark, and not even the slightest slivers of daylight had managed to pierce through the curtains and brighten the room. Undeniably, if Øystein were to glance outside, he would've seen only darkness. But the hallway light had been turned on, and it was seeping through from the crack between the door and the wall, which only served to further prove to Øystein that this was no dream. 

"Pelle?" He repeated in a louder tone, but still soft, careful not to awaken the other guys, but loudly enough for Per to hear him in the few feet that separated them. 

But yet, nothing happened - if Per had heard Øystein, then he didn't show it, although it was quite common for him to ignore people. 

Per was sitting, perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in a too-big shirt that hung off of his bony torso. His hair was covering most of his face, which prevented Øystein from seeing if Per reacted. 

' _Is he sleep-walking?'_ Øystein wondered, but Per never slept - he seemed to always be awake, so when he did sleep, he should've been dead to the world as his mind tried to catch up with the dearly needed rest. Øystein leaned foward, and snapped his fingers. 

It was then that Per flinched, recoiling backwards, startled. "You left this on the dining table." He said, stretching out his hand so that Øystein could see a book, clutched tightly within his fingers. Øystein had left it down there without meaning to, and hadn't even realized that he'd left it, so he stared emptily at the book for a minute before the realization sunk in. 

"Oh." Øystein said for lack of a better response, still freaked out that Per had been in his room - _staring -_ at him for an undetermined amount of time all because of a stupid book. 

Then again, could Øystein really be that surprised? Per wasn't exactly the most normal person in the room. 

"Um. Thanks." Øystein said awkwardly, taking the book and setting on the nightstand, unsure about what he was supposed to do or say. Was he supposed to smile and thank Per, or verbally assault him for the sudden and unasked intrusion of privacy? Instead, Øystein cleared his throat. "That was...nice." He mumbled weakly. 

Pleasantries weren't afforded in the band, and in the rare occasion that such an opportunity presented itself, than it was awkward beyond belief, not that they're relationship - ( _FRIENDSHIP) -_ wasn't already struggling. 

They weren't close friends, but they were friends, nonetheless.

Even though Øystein wished that they could be something more. 

Per stood up, turned, and walked out of the room with a nearly mechanical gait, disappearing out the door and back into the hallway. A moment later, the light shut off again, and Øystein was bathed in darkness, left to sit while his heart stopped hammering within the confines of his chest. 

There was no reason for Per to give Øystein back his book besides to give him a heart attack, and no reason for him to just sit there in the middle of the night and stare like some creep. But for a man who routinely tore up his skin, it was hardly unusual, and Øystein couldn't help but wonder if this had been the first time. 

Standing up, Øystein walked across the room and locked the door, just to be safe, but deep down, he felt an unpleasant, unfamiliar twist of fondness. 

\---------------

" _WAKE UP!"_

The sound of Jørn yelling was undeniably terrifying, especially since the yell echoed within Øystein's ear. 

He gasped, scrambling up in bed, halfway up. "What the fuck?" He demanded harshly, thinking bitterly about how this was the second time in less than five hours that he'd been scared awake. 

"Goddamn it." Jan said, appearing in the threshold of the door. "Sorry for the rude awakening, but we've got a problem." 

"What?" Øystein said, rubbing the side of his head and swinging his legs over the side of his bed, stretching and cracking his back. 

"Pelle is gone." Jan replied simply, like that was all that needed to be said. 

Øystein paused the memories from the night before flooding through his mind, remembering how he'd woken up with the blonde watching him. "So? He does that every day." He said, wondering what was so different about this time around. 

"Well, yeah, but..." Jørn trailed off, unsure, or perhaps uncertain, shuffling his feet.

Jan looked deadly serious. "There's a blizzard coming." 


	8. Chapter 8

A smarter man would've turned tail and gone back hours ago, damning it all down to wherever all the terrible, horrible things (people) went, and making it stay there for the rest of eternity. 

Once upon a time, Øystein would've gone back, taking off his shoes before going inside bevause that would track water and water led to mould and mould led to bugs, but he couldn't bring himself to. Even as his teeth chattered and a chill crept up his spine, even as his feet caught against a rock and made him fall. Øystein couldn't bring himself to leave, and it was pathetic, but he just had to pass it off as not wanting his vocalist to die or get sick, no matter how much Per wanted it. 

The trees had begun to blend together, and what had once been recognizable landmarks were just simple pieces of the woods. Øystein's eyes hurt from staring at the snow, and he could feel his whole body shaking, nevause he hadn't grabbed his proper jacket, and so now he was stuck, waddling around like a penguin because it was the only way he could get through the woods. 

Jan was ahead, his dark hair flying in the wind. "Pelle! _Pe-lle!"_ He yelled out, as if they were searching for a missing child, although there were times when they had to question how old Per really was, because he was like an overgrown child at times, really. 

A small part of Øystein wanted to snap and just tell Jan to shut it, because Per wouldn't answer their calls, anyways, but he didn't. Even that seemed too cruel, especially since Jan was the most worried. At some point, Jørn had taken another route, and disappeared through the trees. Øystein hadn't thought that it'd been a good idea, but Jørn hadn't listened to his muttered replies before taking off into the blossoming darkness. 

Nobody ever listened, did they? No matter how many times Øystein tried to deter them, Jan and Jørn and Per always did what they damned well pleased, even if they ended up in a worse position that they already were. 

"Where could he be?" Jan asked, even though it seemed rhetorical, so Øystein didn't answer. " _Pelle!_ Come here, there's a blizzard coming." 

Øystein grunted as he heaved the shotgun up onto his shoulder, away from his head, and began to traverse over a particularly deep patch of snow, teeth gritted so that they wouldn't start chattering. He looked around, squinting as the pearly white invaded his senses. The trees were shivering in the wind. Øystein paused, and took a deep breathe, his lungs burning from the cold air. 

By any stretch of imagination, Per could be anywhere - the woods were a vast place, and Per knew them well. He could hide, and he could stay, and freeze, and his body would be a mere skeleton by the time anybody found him. But he might head back, perhaps having just went for a walk to grab something, and for all anybody knew, he might be back at the cabin, perhaps wondering where everybody had gone to. 

Something caught Øystein's attention, and he half-turned, searching for another color besides the same white and green and brown, and he opened his mouth, taking a deep breathe. "Jan!" He yelled. 

Immediately, Jan turned and started hurriedly making his way back, struggling to walk quickly before he found his way next to Øystein. The blood, shocking red against pearly white, was still wet, and glistening in the dying sun. "Oh, shit." Jan breathed out, his breathe visible in the air. 

Øystein followed as closely as he could behind Jan, who was determinedly striding forward. The trees were getting closer together, and a weaker man would've felt suffocated. Øystein looked down as the blood trail dissipated, but the trail and the trees made it so ghat there was only one possible way to go besides back. 

The sky was beginning to get darker, and a small part of Øystein worried that the blizzard would start while they were still traipsing around like a bunch of children after school. He also worried that they wouldn't find Per, that he was hiding, that he was already dead. Øystein hated it, how soft he'd become for the crazy man who screamed like he was dying, with his face painted like a rotting corpse. 

All of a sudden, Jan lurched foward. "Pelle!" He said, but instead of wilting concern, his voice was that of an excited person, and Øystein looked up to see that Per was sitting on a large rock, staring out toward the distance. There was blood all over his heart, and it streaked his face. Some had made its way into his hair, and it'd dried in the wind. Per didn't so much as move, and Øystein was reminded of awakening from his deep sleep to find the blonde on his bed, perched like a bird on a branch. 

"We've been looking everywhere for you." Jan said, crouching down and looking up at Per's face. "Did you harm yourself?" He asked, like that was so unusual. 

Per looked down, his eyes pale. "Vinden talar till mig, berättar hemska saker. Jag är inte _galen._ " He said, dried lips forming carefully over the unfamiliar, whispered words, as if emphasizing them. He was only dressed in a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers, so it was a wonder that he was still alive. 

A moment passed, hesitancy thick in the air, unsure and uncertain. 

"I don't understand Swedish. I'm sorry." Jan said, glancing at Øystein, who shrugged, because he didn't understand it, either. They didn't know each other's languages, so they'd met in the middle with English. Theirs wasn't perfect and things often got lost in translation, but it was better than pantomiming and hoping for the best. 

"Oh, you found him." Jørn came through from the trees. "I was getting worried." He gave Per a concerned look, one that suggested he thought the blonde was going to lunge and bite his head off. 

Jan rested his hand on Per's bony knee. "Let's get going back to the cabin, and then we can settle things through." He said, glancing around, as if awaiting the rumble of agreement. 

"Vinden talar. Snälla, ta bort mig." Per said, and his monotone voice became desperate. His eyes widened slightly. Per grabbed onto Jan, his slender fingers digging into the other man's shoulders. "Är du snäll. Jag skall tigga, är det vad du vill?" 

"Um...no." Jan winced and grabbed Per, standing up and pulling the vocalist up alongside him with ease that was startling "Come." He said, as if Per had much of a choice, even though it took a moment for his feet to actually start moving in solidarity with Jan's. 

Øystein took a deep breathe and began to walk again, keeping closely behind Per, even though Jan seemed to have him under control. Jørn kept close by, looking out towards the trees, perhaps keeping watch for wild animals that would strike if they had a chance. Øystein cursed, wondering if they hadn't found Per, if he would've been eaten by a wolf or one of the bears. Although, the bears were probably in hibernation by now. 

It was winter, after all, even if it was just as cold as it usually was. 

Time seemed to pass slowly, as if they were watching paint as it dried on the wall. The sky was darkening, and the wind was beginning to pick up, until Øystein covered his eyes for fear of something flying into them as he struggled through the snow. Hours could've passed by the time the cabin came into view, looming like an ancient castle, and Øystein had never been so glad to see it. 

Jørn hurried ahead and opened the door, allowing for Jan to push Per inside before ducking inside himself. Øystein stepped inside, and sighed as the warmth poured over him like thick honey. Jørn slammed the door shut and latched the lock, having to shove his body against it as the wind persisted. 

"Get the heaters on." Jan said, still shivering despite his thick coat. "I'm surprised that none of us have frostbite, frankly." He added, dragged Per by his shoulder and dragging him into the kitchen. A moment later, the light flicked on, pushing back the darkness in the rest of the cabin. 

The sky had gotten dark quickly, and the glass was beginning to rattle as the wind started to blow in earnest. 

As Jørn's footsteps faded away, the wood creaking underneath his heavy footsteps, Øystein walked into the kitchen, shivers wracking his body. The snow on the floorboards was beginning to turn into puddles of water. 

Per had been sat down at the table, and Jan was rolling up his sleeves, peeling back the thin cloth to unveil two deep cuts thatw ere steadily pouring blood. A small part of Øystein was disgusted by it, another was fascinated, and another was scared, even though he hated that feeling. 

"Jørn? First aid kit, please." Jan yelled, standing up and ripping a wad of paper towel from the roll before walking back and crouching down. He pressed it against the cuts, although they were drenched within minutes. Blood dripped onto the floorboard, black against brown. "When'd you cut yourself, hmmm?" Jan asked, probably more to fill the silence than any real conversation. 

"Vinden fick mig att göra det. Var inte arg, det var bäst." Per said. 

Øystein wondered why Per seemed to have suddenly reverted to a child who didn't understand the questions, nor hadn't been taught English yet. But he didn't know if that was even a proper thing to worry about, so he pushed the thoughts away. "English, Pelle." He said. 

The words didn't seem to register in Per's mind, but he began to rock back and forth, disglodging Jan's grip and forcing him back so that they didn't knock their skulls together. Blood dripped at a faster rate, and it stained Jan's jeans, coloring them black. He hurried to keep a good grip, wrapping his fingers around Per's bony wrists, but there was no real ude. 

"Pelle, stop." Jan said firmly. "Stay still. You're gonna make it worse." 

Øystein heard himself scoff. "Like that'll deter him, Jan. Pelle, stop it." 

" _Vinden.... det viskar till mig. Jag vet inte vad jag ska göra."_ Per whispered, his breathing starting to catch in his chest, hitching halfway through. "Vinden. Snälla, låt det inte föra bort mig. Jag är rädd. Knulla! Den vill ha mig. Låt den inte röra mig." He stood up and lashed out, knocking Jan aside with strength that seemed uncanny to his skeletal frame. 

With a grunt, Jan fell backwards onto his ass, hands scrambling for purchase as he tried to push himself back up again. 

At some point, Jørn had come down, and he stood there with the first aid kit in hand, staring. 

Per tried to run out of the room, but Øystein caught him and pulled the blonde into his arms. Per let out an inhumane shriek and moved around frantically, but his arms were clasped tightly against and across his chest, with Øystein holding them down. " _Det kommer för att hämta mig! Hjälp mig, Øystein, låt det inte ta mig. De kommer att skada mig igen."_ Per thrashed around, whining like an injured cat.

Through the mess of Swedish screams, Øystein recognized his own name, and he took that life raft that he'd been thrown as he swam in an endless black sea with no real beginning nor end. "Shhhh, Pelle. Just shhhh, be quiet." He said. 

Even though Per was trying his best, he was far too weak to do anything more than weakly kick out with his legs. Eventually, he just stood there, heart thundering against his chest, and Øystein relinquished the blonde to Jan, who grabbed Per and started leading him out of the kitchen. "Let's get you cleaned up, hmm? We can't take too long, we have to make sure that we have everything for the blizzard..." 

Jørn followed closely behind, giving Øystein an odd look before leaving. 

But even as they disappeared down the hall, Øystein could hear everything. 

"Hjälper du mig, Jan? Jag är rädd. Jag är väldigt rädd just nu. Jag tror inte att du förstår... de kommer att skada mig." Per mumbled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - (WITH THE HELP OF GOOGLE TRANSLATE.) 
> 
> 1\. The wind speaks to me, tells me terrible things. I'm not crazy. 
> 
> 2\. The wind is blowing. Please, remove me. 
> 
> 3\. Please. I'm begging, is that what you want? 
> 
> 4\. The wind made me do it. Do not be angry, it was the for best. 
> 
> 5\. The wind .... it whispers to me. I do not know what to do. 
> 
> 6\. It's coming to get me! Help me, Øystein, do not let it take me. They will hurt me again. 
> 
> 7\. Are you helping me, Jan? I'm afraid. I'm very scared right now. I do not think you understand ... they will hurt me.


	9. Chapter 9

Øystein stop there for a minute, alone, in the kitchen, unsure what he was waiting for as he watched the sky outside darken and the wind pick up, sending the slowly-falling snow in a flurry. His gaze drifted down towards his boots, which were sodden, and leaking water onto the floor. He took them off slowly, setting them in the closet until they dried enough, and set off towards his room. 

Normally, Per was a nutcase, but at least he was _coherent_ most of the time, and even so, he always spoke English. Øystein wondered what the sudden change was for, if Per was having hallucinations, if he'd maybe fallen and hit his head on a rock. It drove Øystein to no end, knowing that he had no way of knowing what his friend had been saying. 

With that in mind, an ever-present reminder, Øystein undressed, allowing his clothes to fall onto the bathroom floor with a thud. He made his way back into the bedroom, and grabbed a new pair of underwear and pants, slipping them on as he repeated what he could remember of the incomprehensible Swedish in his mind. 

As he pulled his shirt over his head, Øystein wondered what Per had been trying to tell him. 

The words had been desperation, scared, fearful, but they were unknown, as far as anybody could be concerned. They didn't have a computer in the cabin, and it wasn't like they had a dictionary for go look into of Swedish words. Øystein put on a pair of socks, and after drying his hair with a hand towel, walked back downstairs, where he found Jørn carrying a box of flashlights up from the basement. The flashlights rolled around in the box loudly, and thumped when they were set down onto the ground. 

Blizzard's weren't exactly a foreign occurrence, but something didn't seem right about this one. Øystein just couldn't figure out what, exactly, as he walked into the kitchen, where Jan was, frowning skeptically into the fridge. "We're gonna lose power, and we don't have a bloody generator." Jan said when he caught the other man in his line of sight. 

"We don't have room for new amps, much less a generator." Øystein paused. "But yes, we do need one." He shivered slightly and wished that he'd grabbed a sweater to wear. The cabin was shit at keeping people insulated, and he was going to freeze by the time the blizzard picked up. 

Jan sniffed. "What do you think is wrong with him?" He jolted his head toward the living room purposefully. 

"Besides the obvious?" Øystein's upper lip twisted. "I don't know. Maybe he's hallucinating. Maybe he hit his head. For all we know, he thinks that we're a bunch of strabfers speaking a language that he doesn't understand." 

"True." Jan seemed to contemplated that for a moment, tilting his head and taking a deep breathe. "I don't want him alone right now. Can you go sit with him, just to be sure?" 

Øystein felt his heart speed up. "Why me?" 

"Because you're just standing there." Jan replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"He likes Jørn! Why doesn't Jørn go in there and keep him company while I do what he's doing?" Øystein didn't want to go in there. 

Jan sighed. " _Please,_ mate. For me. Just for a few minutes." He sounded exhausted, and, for a moment, Øystein was wondering if he could push it a little bit and win. But then he stared deep into Jan's tired brown eyes, and decided that he wasn't _that_ much of a sadistic bastard. 

"Fine." Øystein quickly turned tail and walked out of the kitchen, glancing at the spot that Jørn, who was now nowhere to be found, had been occupying, and then walked into the living room, which was cold as a frigid lake despite the raging fire.

It was an odd sight to behold - Per was laying on the couch, staring at the fire, which reflected in his placid eyes. He looked calm, didn't say anything when the other man joined him, but he did curl up into a tighter ball when Øystein sat down on the other end of the couch. 

Per was dressed in a different set of clothes, and the bandages were peaking out from underneath his sleeves. His hair hung in limp strands around his nearly skeletal face. Øystein bit his tongue and crossed his legs, hating himself, knowing that it wasn't his fault and hating himself even more. 

But yet, a part of him hated Per, for feelings that he had no idea even existed. 

"Are you alright now?" Øystein asked, licked his lips, and then he forced himself to turn his head and look at Per. "You were being - acting odd earlier." The words sounded heavy. 

"Jag fryser." Per said. 

Øysein stared at him, fighting back the urge to just grab him and shake him, demanding that he speak in a language that they could both understand, but he just clenched his fists and stared back toward the fire. "Right." He took a deep breathe. "What were you doing out there? There's a blizzard, if you hadn't noticed."

A hard shiver wracked Per's body, and he burrowed closer into the couch, ignoring the blanket that somebody, Jan, maybe, had placed over his body. Øystein cursed and stood up, grabbing the blanket by the hem and tucking it around Per, trying to ignore how the blonde tensed under his brief, glancing touch. 

"I don't know if you understand what I'm saying." Øystein found himself saying after he pulled away and walked to the other side of the living room in order to stroke the fire. "Can you understand me right now?" He glanced over his shoulder.

Per didn't respond, only stared like a dying man. 

"Is this gibberish to you, huh? Because that's what listening to _you_ talk sounds like right now. Is this some weird joke?" Øystein was angry for no reason, and he hated it, walking back over to the couch and wondering why he'd talked at all. 

As Øystein sat down, Per suddenly lurched up like a zombie from his grave and grabbed onto Øystein's wrist in a surprisingly vice grip. His slender fingers were strong, and Øystein could feel the coldness clinging to the blonde's skin. He looked down at Per's hand, and then up at his face. 

Per looked terrified. 

And that was pretty damn concerning. 

"What?" Øystein asked. 

"Jag är rädd. De kommer, Øystein, vid fönstren! Du kanske inte ser dem nu, men de kommer att klösa på glaset och skrika som en banshee, och ni alla ser på mig som en senil gammal man, men du måste tro." Per said, every word laced with desperation. 

Øystein doubted that he'd ever heard Per talk so much in one sentence, and even then, wondered if he'd ever talked to freely. "Pelle, I don't understand you right now. You have to speak in English, otherwise I can't help you." Øystein grabbed the fingers that were wound up around hs wrist and held Per's hand, and the gesture of affection felt weird and uncomfortable but the touch seemed to do something to Per, who stared down at it like it was an alien from another planet.

He recognized two words - his name, and banshee, unless there was a similar word in Swedish, but neither gave Øystein any clues as to what Per was talking about. "Did you hit your head when you were out in the woods, Pelle? Does your head hurt?" Øystein asked, wondering if Per even understood English at that moment, if it sounded just as weird as his own language. 

"Vinden skapade dem. De kommer att klösa fönstren och skrika för oss att släppa in dem. Men vi musn't. Jag är väldigt rädd, men jag litar på dig. Hjälper du mig?" Per asked. 

Øystein groaned, knowing that he didn't have a way to know if the first part of what Per had been saying had been a genuine answer, or just nonsense. He buried his face in his hands, disentangling his grip on Per to do so. The last few days had been a whirlwind of confusing emotions and feelings, and Øystein hated it, loathed it, wanting it all to just go away. 

"Du är arg, eller hur?" Per asked. 

Just as the question came into existence, blunt and rather unemotional, there was a loud banging noise from somewhere within the cabin, followed by a sharp yell of pain, and then the sound of howling wind sounded throughout the cabin. A small part of Øystein wanted to immediately stand up and go see what had just happened, but Per jumped up and pushed himself back into the couch, fingers digging into the gauze, placid eyes wide and terrified. "De har kommit! Nej, hämta pistolen, hämta den blodiga pistolen och gå ombord på fönstren!" He screamed. 

"No, no, Pelle, stop it! Calm down!" Øystein heard the wind, he heard the screaming, he heard the sound of Jan and Jørn talking, and he didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. "Pelle, you're okay, you're okay! I promise!" 

"De kommer att slita mig i stycken, snälla låt dem inte, snälla, de kommer!" Per dug his fingers into his hair and pulled, pulled, pulled, until Øystein grabbed his arms with as much gentleness as he could afford and pulled them back down to prevent further injury. Per thrashed around, kicking in pure desperation, his instincts taking over in spite of his previously calm demeanor. 

The sound of wind disappeared, and Øystein got onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Per and trapping his arms so that Per wouldn't continue ripping open his wounds. 

"Vinden, den talar hemska saker." Per sobbed, his voice hoarse and choked, blood beginning to soak the sleeves of his shirt again. 

Øystein didn't know if what he was doing was right - it felt weird to be so close to the younger man, to practically be holding him in his lap like a child, but in a strange way, it was nice. Just under different circumstances. Per's heart was beating like that of a scared rabbit's, and the blood felt hot. "I don't know how to help you." Øystein whispered against Per's hair. 

"Är jag galen? Håller jag på att bli galen?" Per sobbed, but his questions went unanswered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - 
> 
> 1\. I'm cold 
> 
> 2\. I'm scared. They're coming, Øystein, by the windows! You may not see them now, but they will scratch the glass and scream like a banshee, and you all look at me like I'm a senile old man, but you have to believe
> 
> 3\. The wind created them. They're going to scratch the windows and scream for us to let them in. But we musn't. I'm very scared, but I trust you. Will you help me?
> 
> 4\. You're angry, aren't you?
> 
> 5\. They're going to tear me apart, please don't let them, please, they're coming!
> 
> 6\. The wind, it speaks terrible things.
> 
> 7\. Am I crazy? Am I going crazy?


	10. Chapter 10

It was an awkward, tense few moments, filled with anxiety and fear and unspoken tension that probably would never get resolved. Øystein was out of his mind with questions that, equally, would never get answered, and he had no idea in he slightest about what was even happening. 

Per was breathing hard in his grasp, teeth gritted and body tense. His fingers were digging into Øystein's arms, leaving behind small half-moon indentations, and creating a low, throbbing pain. "Jag... att bli galen ..." Per breathed out. 

"Yes." Øystein said, his voice low and full of tension, unsure and half-wild with the recent events. He didn't like not knowing what was happening, but with Per suddenly reverting back to a foreign child and with nobody else around, evidently, he was on his own with trying to figure the damn mystery out. 

Now that the door had shut again, it had clothed the cabin back into its eternal silence, with shadows walking the lonely halls. Jan came rumbling in, his face twisted in anger and misery, dark thresds of hair spotted with snow. "What happened?" He asked, clearly expecting something different other than the door had flown open and Per had been scared by whatever was in the depths of his brain. 

"Per is - I don't know, he was talking about something and then the door opened and he got scared by something." Øystein didn't even know if that was the right answer, but he didn't have anything else to go on. He could feel the blood dripping down his sleeve, and, far from hot, it now felt as cold as ice. "He hit his head out there or something. I don't know, but it's really starting to freak me out." 

Jan pursed his lips. "Well, we'll have to wait to drag him to a doctor or whatever, because the blizzard just - " He motioned around with his hands, and then shrugged. "I'll take him and get new gauze on him." 

It suddenly struck Øystein that Per, in this state, was like some demented child, and it terrified him in such a pathetic way, because Per was twenty years old but yet, something was holding onto him, grabbing him, dragging him down to the place of no return. "No, I'll take him." 

For a moment, Jan opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, seemingly struck dumb by the response. He seemed like he was about to ask a question, probably about whether or not Øystein had hit his head, too, but then he closed his eyes and seemed to think of something better. "Alright. Thanks, I guess." Jan didn't sound sure of himself, but then he was walking back into the kitchen and telling something to Jørn. 

Øystein let go of Per and stood up, feeling awkward after how close they were and wondering if he'd felt the same. But Per's face was blank and unreadable, so there was no awaiting answer as Øystein motioned for Per to stand up and, yet again, make the journey upstairs. 

Outside, the snow was flying around like dust in space, pitch white against the darkening sky. Øystein wondered about how bad it would get - last time, they'd gotten snowed in, and, having not prepared in advance, starved for a week until the snow plow had come. This time, they were slightly better off, but the chances were still worse than they should be. 

The bathroom flooring was cold, and Øystein cringed, rummaging through the cupboard under the sink until he found the first aid kit. He wasn't the person that usually patched Per up, but Øystein needed awhile, just a few minutes, alone with the blonde to try and figure out the situation at hand. 

Per was staring, all wide eyes and pallid skin, staring at Øystein like he didn't understand, and maybe he didn't. But Per didn't fight when Øystein grabbed his hand and pushed him onto the rim of the bathtub. Per sat down, having fallen silent, a fierce change from the panic he'd been in just a few moments earlier. 

Øystein crouched at Per's feet, looking up at the younger man, feeling at a loss that made him feel so pathetic. "Can you understand me? Just nod your head if you can." Øystein said, hoping that he would get a positive answer. 

Slowly, Per nodded. 

"Alright. That's good." Øystein sighed, opening the first aid kit and inspecting the contents. They were suspiciously low, but Jan already probably knew that. "Why are you speaking Swedish?" He asked. 

Per frowned, and then bit his bottom lip, which was already torn. "Drömmen." 

The word was unfamiliar, foreign to Øystein's ears. "I don't know what that means." He said, shaking his head, wondering why Per couldn't just tell him. "You are being _very_ difficult right now, Pelle." 

Careful not to hurt Per on top of everything else that was happening, Øystein unrolled the gauze that Jan had wrapped around Per's arms, which were blood soaked, not because the cuts were so bad, but because they'd been left for a moment too long. The blood was sticky, and Øystein couldn't fight back his sympathetic grimace, but Per seemed oblivious to the pain, still staring at him with wide eyes. 

"I won't judge you, Pelle. Just tell me. Jan and Jørn and I just want to help you, but if you don't tell us, then we can't." Øystein couldn't believe the position he'd been forced into, that he was being forced to act so kind, especially to Per, but he had no real other choice. 

Per tilted his head. "Men jag är rädd." He said. 

"Oh, for Christ's -" Øystein sighed as he gently dabbed a wet wipe onto the streaked blood on Per's arms. " _Speak_ to me. English, Pelle. I can help you. We all can, but you need to tell us what's wrong." He wrapped the gauze around Per's arms, gentle but firm. 

From downstairs, there came the sound of talking, and Jan laughed, and Per almost seemed to shrink backwards. He pursed his lips thinly, and then splayed his hands, fingers stretched wide. "Den berättar saker. Jag kan inte tala. Jag är rädd att jag kan bli galen, att det kanske är hallucinationer, men de känns så _verkliga."_

Øystein stared at him, and then he sighed, his shoulders slumping as his gaze drifted down to the floor. There was blood caked under his fingernails, and he picked at them. "If I get you paper and a pencil, will you write what you're trying to say for me?" He asked. 

A minute passed, and then Per nodded, which gave Øystein hope as he stood and quickly made his way into Per's room, knowing that there would be paper there for them to use. The room was dark and it smelled - a strange, sick combination of rotting meat and something else, perhaps blood. Øystein didn't know if blood had a smell, and he didn't care, anyways. 

There was a notebook on the cluttered desk, and Øystein grabbed it, along with a pencil, and then he jogged back into the bathroom where Per sat, still as a statue.

"Okay, here you go." Øystein handed Per the notebook and pencil, and then he backed away, giving the younger man his privacy as he looked down at the paper. 

Per looked down at the notebook like it was an unfamiliar object, his eyes coloured in a combination of terror and confusion. The pencil shook in his grasp, and left a thin, shaky line of grey. He sat there for a minute, staring down at the paper, and then he started writing. It took less than a minute before he was turning the notebook, and Øystein squinted to see it. 

**THE DREAM TOLD ME NO**

Øystein blinked. "What dream? What are you talking about, Pelle?" He asked. 

**MY DREAM. I'M SCARED.**

"Of what?" Øystein felt his concern blossom into worry, his face pinched in wonder as to what was going on. "Pelle. What are you scared of?" 

**THE THINGS I SEE.**

The words conveyed terror, confusion. "Pelle, what are you seeing?" Øystein didn't like how many questions he was having to ask. 

**SCARY THINGS. BAD THINGS.**

"Okay, right." Øystein didn't know what to make of the words - he had more questions than answers than he had before. He frowned and sighed, hands on his hips. "Let's go back downstairs. At least we have communication, right?" He waited near the door until Per stood up and followed him back down. 

Jan was standing in the threshold of the door between the kitchen and the living room, his arms crossed. "I was wondering where you two had went off to." He commented. "The electricity might go out soon, so I figure that we should all stay together, just in case." 

"Alright." Øystein agreed. 

Per immediately walked back into the living room without a word. 

"Did he say anything to you?" Jan asked. 

"Not technically." Øystein crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Not anything in English, anyways. I did get him to answer on paper." He handed Jan the notebook. 

After reading it, Jan nodded. "Yeah. He's gone - I hate to say this, you know how much I hate to - but he's just losing his mind." He sighed and handed Øystein back the notebook. "I'm scared that he's not going to make it." 

Øystein nodded and walked into the living room, where Per was laying on the couch in the same position, his eyes distant, looking as if his mind was far away and beyond reach. Jørn was trying to find a movie to watch, and yelling out his choices. Jan sat down near Per, perhaps wanting to be close so he didn't have a panic again. 

Sitting down, Øystein looked down at the notebook, and resolved himself to a long night ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - 
> 
> 1\. I'm going crazy 
> 
> 2\. The dream 
> 
> 3\. But I'm afraid
> 
> 4\. It tells you things. I can't speak. I'm afraid I might go crazy, that maybe it's hallucinations, but they feel so real


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to do it today.

Jørn was enthralled by the movie, his mouth agape as he perched on the edge of his chair, hands folded and eyes wide. He always got interested by the smallest of things, no matter how stupid they may have been, and Øystein was both annoyed and endeared by it as he sat on the other chair, only half paying attention to the mind-bender on the screen. 

An undetermined amount of time had passed since they'd all sat down like some weird family and begun to watch the movie. The electricity had yet to go out, but they weren't out of the woods, yet. The wind was howling like a lonely wolf, and the windows were streaked white with snow and frost. Øystein could feel the chill turn into a full freeze, and he shivered, burrowing into the jacket that he was wearing after the cold proved too much to handle with his shirt and pants alone. 

In fact, everybody was wearing a jacket or a sweater, which did little to ward off the cold, but at least they wouldn't get frostbite for awhile yet. 

"You know, I don't understand this movie." Jan spoke slowly, and rather awkwardly, breaking the tense and cold silence that'd settled over the cabin. "It is very back and forth, and this lady - Sally - seems to be very manipulative but is presented as the victim here." He looked around, as if for agreement, or maybe to test the freezing waters. 

Clicking his tongue, Jørn shook his head. "Nobody is truly innocent. It is a noir film, have you heard?" He raised one of his eyebrows. "Crime thriller. The manipulation is purposeful." 

"Oh." Jan frowned, looking deeply confused by the response. "That is interesting."

Øystein huffed out a small, reluctant laugh, crossing his arms to preserve what little body heat he had. It was in vain, however. He could see his breathe as it puffed out a cloud in front of his face. "Do you know what he is talking about, or are you just agreeing?" He said with a smirk. 

Jan glared. "Shut up. At least I'm being conversational. You two would live in silence with Jørn talking nonsense all day." He smiled, which broke the illusion of his glare. "Isn't that right, Pelle?" 

For his part, Per hadn't so much as moved since he'd lay down, looking so small in his position that it was almost impossible to see him if not for his blonde hair, which contrasted sharply with the darkness. His eyes were open, however, which ruled out the possibility of him sleeping for once. 

Per didn't say anything - not that anybody would be able to understand it if he did, anyways. His legs were drawn up towards his chest, arms crossed, watching the movie but not really _seeing._ He was somewhere else, beyond the barrier of humanity, into the place that he always went into where nobody else could see or go or hear about. 

For a moment, Øystein caught Jan's eye, and he see the worry, the concern. 

"Oh, that's just dumb!" Jørn suddenly said, tossing his hands up in the air. "This is just ridiculous. Who would - oh, bloody hell, she's just - Jan, _Jan,_ are you paying attention? Are you seeing this?" 

Øystein curled his lip up. " _Jan, Jan, Jan."_ He mocked in a high-pitched tone. 

"Oh, fuck off and eat a cow, Øystein." Jørn snapped, flipping his middle finger up.

Rolling his eyes, Øystein watched as the woman was stabbed on the screen, her actress doing her best imitation of a dying fish as the blood splattered onto the white walls and pooled onto the floor. "How smart, Jørn. I almost forgot that you were so dumb with that reply." 

"Is that your best insult?" Jørn said. "Maybe that's why nobody wants to sleep with you, you don't even know anything good to say." 

As he watched the two argue back and forth like two heated children, Jan leaned back into the couch and crossed his arms. Their voices drowned out that of the movie's characters, and Jan sighed but didn't mention it, not wanting to join in on the insult fest. 

Jan rubbed Per's leg absently, not liking how quiet he was being, even compared to how he usually acted. "They're being ridiculous, aren't they, Pelle?" He said. "I believe that they might as well talk up a river, but all they will spout is shit." 

Just as he said this, Øystein scowled heavily. "Jørn, you're not anything close to a good bassist. Do you want to know why I hired you?" He wasn't even angry, just going on and on because he had nothing better to do than worry. 

Jørn raised his eyebrows. "Because you're a terrible guitarist and needed somebody to make up for that?" He said in a light, oddly playful tone. 

Shaking his head, Jan turned to look down at Per. "I don't think they are truly angry, but yet, they won't stop. They like to thrive on chaos." He was talking to himself, Jan knew, but he needed to, otherwise he would scream out of pure annoyance to his predicament. 

"Jag är förvirrad, Jan." Per whispered, sounding nervous, terrified. 

Wincing, Jan pat Per's leg. "I don't know what you're saying, Lille Kanin." He said.

Shrinking back into the couch, Per thought - ' _I wish that somebody would.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - 
> 
> 1\. I am confused, Jan. 
> 
> 2\. Little Rabbit


	12. Chapter 12

The lights flickered, and then they disappeared, plunging the cabin into darkness. 

Øystein grunted. "Oh, damn it." He sighed as he realization that the electricity had just gone out hit him like a truck. He could hear the wind pounding against the windows, and he had no doubt that the world outside was a wintry hell. Øystein huffed through his nose and stood up, shivering as a sudden chill hit him. 

"Well, it was expected, huh?" Jan said in a light tone. 

There was a strange hitting sound, and then a flashlight beam flickered on. Jørn looked proud of himself, as if he was the first person to unveil such a discovery. 

Squinting as the light hit his eyes, Øystein winced and looked away, holding up one of his eyes to block the light from hitting his eyes. "Careful, Jørn." He warned in a sharp tone. "You nearly blinded me." Øystein turned around and started to feel his way throughout the cabin, having a hard time as he attempted to find his way into the kitchen. 

But muscle memory wasn't helping Øystein much as his foot hit the wall, and he bit back a startled yell of pain as it blossomed in his toes. "Jørn, come here so you can help me." He called over his shoulder. 

"Help you what?" Jørn asked, but he walked over, anyways. 

The flashlight danced in the darkness, fighting back the veil as Øystein made his way toward the dining table. The flashlights had been piled onto the table, having fallen and spread across. "We need to go get the generator up, no?" Øystein grabbed one of the flashlights and flicked it on. 

Jørn winced. "Oh, it's terrible down there." He said in a whiny voice, like a small child who had been told that he couldn't get a toy at the shop. 

"Freezing to death is much worse." Jan replied as he walked in. "I'll go with you." 

With a sigh, Øystein shook his head. "Don't be a little coward, Jørn. You're in this band but you can't even handle the basement?" He rolled his eyes for effect to his irritation. 

"There's _spiders_ down there." Jørn hissed. 

Øystein gave him a look. "Go on and sit with Pelle, then. Jan and I will go on down." He looked at the drummer, who nodded in confirmation. 

"Whatever." Jørn said, but he left the kitchen, anyways, his footsteps echoing throughout the cabin and then suddenly stopping as he made his way into the living room. He could be like a teenager, sometimes, and Øystein hated it. 

Didn't Øystein already have enough trouble on his mind without having to deal with a bratty twenty-something? It was downright ridiculous, really. But Øystein knew that it was a situation that he would be stuck with for awhile yet, and had no real control over it. Besides, Jørn was talented enough, so Øystein didn't have any good reason to kick him out. 

Although, Øystein had to admit, the basement really wasn't a particularly pleasant space to be in. It was dark and dusty, and even though they practiced there every few days, there was a constant, unspoken presence. 

Jan went down there first, shining the flashlight down toward the steps so that he didn't trip. "Jeez, it's cold." He whispered, his breathe puffing out in front of his face. "I can't stand it." Jan reached the ground and he shined the light around. 

The instruments were still down there - the drum kit looked strangely ominous in the darkness, like a strange, distorted shape. Øystein shivered, a chill creeping up his spine like fingers. "Well, the sooner we get the generator up...." He left the unfinished sentence to hang in the air. 

The generator probably wouldn't do very good for the electricity, but it would keep them all warm, as long as the heaters powered through. The only real concern was whatever food was in the refrigerator, but that wasn't a lot, so Øystein wasn't particularly concerned. 

Øystein wrapped his free arm around his torso as Jan creeped behind the stairs, where the generator was. He would probably have an easier time going under them, since he was shorter, but Øystein didn't exactly fancy having to get spiders in his hair, all for some warmth. He did, however, shine the light so Jan wasn't left completely in the dark. 

"Ugh, it's gross down here." Jan coughed. "Oh my God, that's rotten, fuck." He pinched his nose and waved his hand in the air, as if clearing smoke. 

"Don't be a baby." Øystein said. 

"Easy for _you_ to say." Jan snapped over his shoulder. "There's a bunch of rat carcasses down here. For Pelle's birthday, we can just send him down here. He'd have a ball." 

The mention of Per sent Øystein's heart pattering. "What do you think is going on with him?" Øystein asked. 

Jan didn't turn around, simply wiping his sleeve over the top of the generator to clear the dust that was caked on it. "I hope that it's just some weird phase for him, or whatever." Jan replied after a moment or two of tense, contemplative silence. "Maybe he just - oh, I don't know." 

Øystein bit his lip and looked down at the dusty ground, considering the choices of his response in his mind. "I think that he's hallucinating." He muttered. 

"Well, of course." Jan's tone went higher in pitch. "But of what, and why?" 

The answers weren't in sight, and Øystein hated it, feeling so helpless. "I don't like not knowing what's going on with him." He said. "But I suppose that I should get used to it, huh?" 

A moment later, there came a relatively loud rumbling noise, and Jan stepped away from the generator, looking smug with a smirk on his face. He wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving behind a rather significant trail of multicolored dust and dirt. "I hope not." He said. 

They walked back up the stairs, feeling as the warmth tentatively made its appearance again. Øystein sighed in relief, feeling the worry that he hadn't known was there dissipate. "Finally!" Jørn remarked as he came into view, shining the flashlight at them. "You two look like you've come back from the dead. Yuck." 

Øystein twisted his lip and ran one of his hands through his hair, feeling light chunks of dust fall from his dark strands. "Speak for yourself. At least we were productive, asshole." He replied. 

"Alright. Enough." Jan soothed. "We got the generator back on, don't we? Let's just all calm down, there's no use getting all riled up, huh?" He got between them and lightly shoved Øystein back, hard enough to get him to back up but not enough to harm him. 

Jørn sighed. "You're right. Sorry." He looked down at his shoes, anxiously scuffing the ground with the tip of his boot. 

"Let's go back into the living room, maybe we can find something to entertain ourselves." Jan said. 

Just as he said that, there was a pause, and Øystein felt a painful lurch in his chest just as the sound of a door opening filled the air, and all of the warmth disappeared as the front door slammed open. 

Jørn's eyes widened. "Oh, shit, _Pelle."_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so hopeless right now. So tired.

"Oh my _fuck!"_ Øystein whirled around and stormed towards the door, his footsteps pounding as he wrenched his coat from the hooks by the door and shoved his arms through. "Is he stupid?! I'm going to fucking kill his stupid ass." 

Jørn was close behind, stumbling as he tried to put his boots on while standing up and not holding onto anything. He looked stressed, face pinched with worry and fear. "Why, though?" He asked, and Øystein didn't know what part he was referring to so he didn't reply. 

It was a mess of ice and flurries of snow out there, the trees rustling and wind howling. Øystein grunted in anger, gritting his teeth as he found his mittens and grabbed another flashlight. "He's such a stupid little..." He trailed off as he shoved batteries into his coat pockets. 

"I shouldn't have left him alone." Jørn said mournfully. 

"Oh, shut up." Jan muttered. "It's no use pitying yourself, Jørn. Where the fuck does he plan on going, anyways?" His face twisted, whether it be from anger or concern or something else. Jan stood in the doorway, catching the flashlight that was thrown at him by Øystein, who, just as he was about to walk out the door, paused, almost as if in thought. 

Øystein turned around and grabbed Per's coat from the hooks, tossing it over his elbow before storming out onto the deck. Immediately, Øystein felt like his whole body had freezed up, like somebody would feel in a situation where they should've been panicking but they froze up instead. He took a deep breathe, but his lungs burned from the icy air. 

A moment later, Jan stepped out, wrapping his arms around his torso, although it likely wouldn't do any good. "Holy _shit!"_ He remarked, loudly enough to be heard over the wind. 

The door had trouble closing before Jørn forcefully wrenched it shut, and the sound echoed. "What are we gonna do?" He sounded desperate, walking over to stand close to Øystein so he didn't have to yell to be heard. "Pelle wasn't wearing his jacket or anything." 

No, Per had been wearing a sweater, and unless he, for some reason, put them on before trekking out into the wilderness, then he was only wearing socks, a thin pair of pants, and a shirt to protect himself from the blizzard. That, coupled with his Already emaciated body, meant that he didn't have long. 

Øystein felt his heart jump into his throat at that thought. "Look close, and keep close." He warned, before hurriedly walking down the stairs. The wind whipped through his hair and obscured his vision, and, despite them being clenched, his feet began to chatter. Øystein swung the flashlight around on the ground, but the snow had already covered up Per's footprints. 

But somehow, Øystein realized where he was going - or trying to go, anyways. 

"Both of you follow me!" Øystein yelled, beginning the hard trek through the snow as it continued to pile up around him. It felt like walking through molasses, made worse by the urgency of the situation. Øystein squinted through the snow, seeing the hordes of trees in the distance. A part of him wondered if he was wrong, if Per was headed in a completely different direction, but Øystein's instincts said otherwise, and he trusted them. 

It was a sight that was both terrifying and beautiful, really, as they tried their best to walk through the woods. The tree branches were swaying, and the sky seemed to be completely gone, leaving behind only a colony of clouds. Øystein hoped that he was remembering correctly as he walked, that they weren't going the wrong way by his own will. 

Time was immeasurable, but hours seemed to pass. 

"Where are we - _where are we going?!"_ Jørn yelled, his voice cracking as he tried to be heard over the other noises. He was lagging behind, but his flashlight was waving around so they hadn't lost track of him, not yet, anyways. 

Øystein didn't know how to answer - Gut instinct? Hope? The realization that Per had probably gone back to that place in the clearing with the rock? - "Just trust me!" He yelled back, which probably wasn't reassuring, but the wind drowned out any replies that came forth. 

Despite his determination, Øystein was worried about the animals that lurked in the woods, was worried about frostbite, and was especially worried about whether or not he was about to trip over an unconscious Per. However, if he had done in the direction that they were, then he was somehow still alive and conscious despite his minimal clothing and resources. 

The trees began to blend together, which Øystein supposed was a sign that they were deep enough in the woods that they were close to where Per was supposed to be. He coughed, feeling as if ice crystals were lodged in his throat. "Fuck." He muttered, knowing that he had no real idea as to the directions, just instinctuve muscle memory. 

"Are we looking for the clearing?" Jan yelled, stumbling to a stop. "It's over there!" 

Øystein followed Jan's finger to the right, where a small, previously unnoticeable path was cleared through the trees. Per had been walking fast, evidently. "Yes, let's go!" He began his lurching walk again. 

As the possibility of finding Per got more and more realistic, Øystein began to feel like his heart was doing somersaults, and assumed it was from the exertion that his body was going through. But as he stumbled through the snow, gasping for breathe like a dying man, Øystein felt as if a fire had been lit in his stomach and left to burn. 

Whether or not Jan and Jørn had managed to keep up with him, Øystein picked up his pace, dropping his flashlight because his fingers were numb, and if his fingers were numb with a pair of thick wool gloves on, then how did Per feel with nothing? Øystein found himself burning with determination, and adrenaline began to course through his veins. 

In the paleness of the snow, and despite the premature darkness of the sky, it was easy to see shapes, even if they weren't initially discernable. Øystein could see a hunched shadow in the distance, sitting on a rock, and something in his chest lurched with a combination of relied and anxiety. 

The idea of keeping together with Jan and Jørn fell away as Øystein forced himself foward, determination powering his every movement. His fingers couldn't grasp onto the flashlight anymore, and so he just dropped it. With a shivering breathe, Øystein fell to his knees, and they scraped painfully against the rock despite his jeans. 

"Pe - Pelle, Pelle." Øystein could barely talk. " _Pelle,_ look at me." He raised his hands and cupped Per's face. 

Per flinched away from the touch. "Vinden... är att ringa till mig. Har du inte-" He broke off into a strangled cough, leaning foward and hunching into himself. 

Unpleasantly, Øystein felt his heart hurt. "Pelle, you need to get up, we need to get back to the cabin." He brushed Per's hair away from his face, and it felt frozen to the touch. "Okay? Do you understand me?" Øystein looked into Per's eyes. 

Finally, Jan came into view, and his stoic facade broke into a relieved sigh when he saw that Per was there, and he was alive. "Thank God." He muttered, nearly falling but steadying himself on a tree. "Takk Gud." Jan repeated after a lengthy moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Taking Per's silence as exhaustion, Øystein wrapped the extra coat around the blonde's shoulders. They didn't have long before frostbite set in, and Øystein would count it as a miracle if they all made it back to the cabin without Hypothermia. 

"Go on ahead. Take Jørn." Øystein said as he pulled Per up into a standing position alongside his own. 

"What? Have you gone mad?" Jan said in an indignant tone, sounding borderline scandalized by the words. "I'm not - for fuck's sake, 'Stein." He shook his head angrily, hands beginning to clench. 

Øystein spat out the snow that had somehow gotten into his mouth. "Just go! I cannot focus on you two _and_ Pelle. Move ahead, get the heaters on full blast, and hurry. Go, go!" 

Considering the circumstances, Jan didn't argue, and he only gave Per one last glance before pushing himself ahead, going considerably faster and disappearing into the wind within a moment or so. He would be angry, and when all was said and done, would probably give Øystein a long, angry rant, but that was fine. He could deal with that, as long as everybody survived this. 

With all his strength, Øystein began to walk, knowing that Per was trying but, far from his usually graceful self, he was uncoordinated and stumbling, nearly falling if not for Øystein carrying most of his weight. "Come on, Pelle. You made it this far, you can make it back." Øystein said. 

Per was mumbling about something, but the words were quiet and inaudible, and the only reason Øystein knew that he was saying anything at all was because he could see Per's lips moving. 

It was hard to navigate, but Øystein felt confident in himself that he could get them back home. He'd gotten this far, hadn't he? Per was shivering violently, and that was only part of Øystein's initiative. "Work with me, Pelle." Øystein mumbled through frozen lips, pulling Per back up when his knees seemed to buckle underneath him. 

The cabin was a dark, looming shape in the distance, and Øystein had never been so glad to see that goddamn hellhole, with the spiders and the shadows and the heaters on full blast, even though it would end up biting them in the ass later on in the month. 

Øystein worried about how he was going to get them both up the stairs, but thankfully, Jan was lingering next to them. He met them halfway, grabbing Per and motioning Øystein ahead. "Go, I'll get him." Jan said. 

Truth be told, Øystein was glad beyond belief for that one moment as he stumbled up the stairs, his numb fingers refusing to grasp onto the railing, adding to a certain thrill. Øystein felt hands on his back and he was being pulled into the foyer by Jørn, whose miniature beard was sprinkled with snow. 

A moment later, Jan and Per came in, and in the faint light, Per looked like he should've been dead - and for all he'd been through in his life, he reallt should've been. He was shivering violently, and, when he unclenched his fists, Øystein saw that his fingers were pale white when compared to how red his hands and face was. 

"Oh fuck." Øystein moaned. "That's frostnip. Oh fuck." He grabbed Per and hurried him into the kitchen. 

Per was stumbling, uncoordinated, looking dazed as he was practically dragged toward the sink. Øystein turned the water on warm, briefly running his finger under it to check the temperature before grasping Per's fragile hands in his own, holding him tightly enough that he couldn't escape. 

Hissing through his teeth, Per tried to pull away, his whole body shaking with the effort. Ice clung to his hair and the corners of his eyelashes. Øystein held him to the counter, clutching his hands tightly within his own. "Det gör ont. Kommer jag att dö igen?" Per mumbled clumsily. 

"Stay calm, Pelle. It's alright. You're alright." Øystein breathed against Per's hair, trying to keep him still. "Ro deg ned, lille kanin." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - 
> 
> 1\. The wind is calling...don't you - 
> 
> 2\. It hurts...am I going to die again?
> 
> 3\. Calm down, little rabbit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to read the previous chapter!

It wasn't for a few minutes that Øystein finally sighed and shut off the water, watching as what was left swirled down the drain with a throaty rumble. The sudden warmth in the house, compared to the butter coldness, made Øystein's fingers and face burn from the vast change. 

"Bloody hell, it hurts." Jørn complained suddenly, his voice high and sharp from irritation, and Øystein turned to look over his shoulder to see what was going on behind him. 

Jørn was sitting at the table, and Jan was quietly inspecting a bloodied cut from his forehead. "Just a cut from the branch, nothing serious." Jan said when he caught Øystein's eye. 

"You couldn't see shit out there!" Jørn added. 

Taking a deep breathe, Øystein grabbed a handtowel from one of the cupboards, grabbing Per's hands and tucking them inside of the rough Terry cloth. Per looked down, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, but didn't say anything, as if content to just watch Øystein as he tried to warm him back up. 

A small tremor ran through Per's body, and the melting snow was making his clothing damp. At some point, his jacket had fallen from his shoulders and fallen onto the floor. 

"Um, shower." Øystein said, and he took a deep breathe when his voice came out sounding hoarse and rough. He rubbed Per's hands. "The water will help him, I think." He tried to remember what little he knew from the occasional camping endeavor that he'd taken with his parents. Øystein knew that Per needed to get out of his clothes, anyways, and the thought was - well, startling. 

Jan looked up. "Would you like me to help him, 'Stein?" He asked, too calm considering that he'd just been trekking through a blizzard. He had since abandoned Jørn and his cut, and had just been about to leave the room for something. "I will, if you need me too. You two spent more time out there than we did." He said. 

"No. It's fine." Øystein said. "Come with me, Pelle." After everything that had transpired, there was no argument, no silent look, no refusals - Per's footsteps were soft and tentative as he followed Øystein out of the kitchen and up the stairs until they reached the bathroom. 

Øystein walked in and turned on the water, the last of his own shivers dissipating slowly as he waited for the water to turn from cold to comfortably warm. He savored a moment as the air began to get stuffy before turning back around back toward Per, who was standing awkwardly in the threshold of the door. 

The noise from downstairs was a mere mumble as Per swung his hands limply, sending droplets of water onto the wall. The melting snow was creating a puddle underneath Per, and slowly dropping down his pallid face. His hair hung around his face, and gave him a near pathetic look. 

More than anything, Øystein hoped that the frostnip would be the worst of any damage that Per had sustained. It would probably hurt, but frostbite would end in amputation, and was much worse than the fading burning sensation that frostnip left in its wake. 

"I'm going to go get you new clothes, okay?" Øystein said quietly. "Stand under the water for awhile. And then get dressed and come back downstairs." He looked for any sign that Per was listening, but all he saw were piercing blue eyes that seemed to understand, but only looked past Øystein's own and toward the wall.

Per nodded, and he walked into the bathroom, closing the door but not fully, so that it didn't latch but nobody could see him. Øystein walked away, wrapping his arms around his torso as he walked into Per's room. The smell was awful, but hardly surprising anymore. 

The room was dark, and seemingly ominous in the already darkened cabin, made worse by the sight of twisted creatures drawn on crumbled pieces of paper, salvaged from wherever Per could find them. They were everywhere - the floor, the bed, the desk. Øystein was fascinated by the talented faces drawn by a careful hand, wide and dark eyes, mouths with gaping teeth and outstretched hands, never failing to surprise him with the pure creativity. 

It took a long minute for Øystein to find a pair of pants and a shirt for Per, and it took him more than a few minutes to find him a sweater. He carried them back into the hallway, and carefully walked into the bathroom. The heat was slow and pleasant, and Øystein put the clothes on the counter, near the sink. "I put the clothing on the counter, Pelle." Øystein yelled over the sound of water. 

There was an extensively long pause. "Tack." Per finally said. 

Øystein frowned in the threshold of the door, unsure. "Um, you're welcome." He said after a moment of thought, and then he walked back out into the hallway, deciding to get out of his own clothing and into new clothes before the shivering resumed. He, too, was soaked from the snow. 

Retreating to his room, Øystein got into a fresh change of clothes, hearing the shower shut off after a few minutes. He pulled a jacket on, tossing his old clothes on the floor, deciding that he'd deal with them later. The haste in which he'd been rushing through the snow had made Øystein's muscles ache, and he groaned, feeling his shoulders burn painfully and his knees cramp. 

' _He could've died. He could've gotten hypothermia, an animal could've gotten to him. You could've lost him.'_ Øystein groaned, sitting down at the edge of his bed and burying his face in his hands. He could feel the initial adrenaline wearing off, leaving him weary and exhausted. 

The idea of Per having died didn't sit well with Øystein, and he sat there, feeling an unexpected but not entirely surprising ache in his heart. He didn't know what he would have done if he would've gone and found Per, dead in the masses of eternally white snow. 

Øystein forced himself to stand up, walking back out into the hallway. He hadn't been aware of how embroiled Per had become in his life, and it scared him, because never, ever, had he loved somebody besides his family, but what else could he call this? It was strange and weird and new, and Øystein wished that he didn't have these feelings, but in a way, he kind of liked them. 

Stopping shock still in the middle of the hallway, halfway between his room and the staircase, Øystein saw that Per had emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and staring at him. He was sopping wet, droplets of water from his hair making his shirt wet all over again. 

"Pelle?" Øystein prompted, walking toward him. "Let's go downstairs. It's warmer down there." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and sweet, and it freaked him out. 

Per slowly stepped foward, soundless on the wooden floor. His face looked open, scared, almost, and he stopped just a few inches in front of Øystein, who looked at him, confused. "Don't let them take me." Per whispered, his voice like ice going down Øystein's spine. 


	15. Chapter 15

Øystein supposed, in a vague sort of way, that he should be glad that Per decided to stage his escape when he did, because, as he sat there in the lonely darkness, the snow sounded like screams that threatened to burst through the walls and take them down to Hell. 

Without electricity, it was hard to tell what time it was. Øystein had lost his watch at some point, so he could only stare at the small sliver of oustide he could see through a window and hope that it would get better. He didn't want to die in this goddamn cabin. 

Jørn was sleeping on the chair, bundled up in a jacket with a blanket tossed over his body. He was snoring softly, head tilted to the side. The cut on his forehead had been cleaned, and without the blood caked onto his skin, it had become clear that the cut wasn't serious and would heal within a few weeks. Deep in sleep, he muttered something and curled up further into his body. 

On the other side of the room, Jan was reading a book with one of the flashlights, looking solemn as he quietly flipped the page. He hadn't spoken much since they'd gotten back inside, just simply did what needed to be done. Licking his lips in a contemplative manner, Jan set aside the book, and he turned off the flashlight, setting them both aside before folding his hands and tilting his head toward his shoulder. 

Similarly, Per hadn't spoke since he'd emerged from the shower, and was laying in the same position that he'd been in earlier. He wasn't sleeping. In the everlasting darkness, his eyes were unusually bright and sharp, directed at the fire, as if he didn't trust it and it would come and come kill if he didn't state at it with such intent, deadly seriousness. 

Øystein sighed, and rested his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes in pure exhaustion. His body ached, and he had a small idea that the terror wasn't quite over just yet. After a moment or two, Øystein opened his eyes again, and nearly yelled like a scared child when he realized that Per was sitting up and staring at him with those eyes that seemed to know everything in the most unpleasant, intimate ways. 

"For fuck's sake, Pelle. Go to sleep, it'll help you." Øystein huffed, his annoyance rising like lava bubbling from an active volcano. He shifted away, but Per reached out and entangled his pale, slender fingers around Øystein's arm, his jagged nails biting into the other man's skin, eyes intent. 

A moment of hesitancy passed. "Let go of me." Øystein said, his anger slowly seeping away and being replaced by a slow, cold sort of fear. He pressed his lips thinly, and then ripped his arm away. "Go the fuck to sleep, Pelle." He said in firmer tone, like a parent would talk to his child. 

But Per didn't so much as move. "Come." He said, and he stood up, quick as a bat in the night, holding out his hand when he was standing and Øystein could only stare at him like he was a strange, foreign creature, which was exactly what he was, really. 

"Where? Pelle, you were just - " Øystein paused, cutting himself short when Per widened his eyes and shook his hand in the air, stamping his feet on the floor like an urgent toddler. "Pelle, what's wrong with you?" He asked, feeling oddly offended and a little indignant. 

' _Besides the obvious.'_ Øystein thought. 

Per made a frustrated noise from deep within his throat. "Come." He repeated. 

Slowly, Øystein glanced at Jan and Jørn, but they had both long fallen asleep, oblivious to what was going on around them. Øystein could feel his heart begin to pound with renewed vigor, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself down, reminding himself that there was nothing that Per could do to him. 

But that wasn't what Øystein was afraid of, and that became increasingly clear as he stood up, shivering slightly as a draft swept through the cabin. Per grabbed the flashlight that Jan had been using and began to walk toward the stairs, unusually fast as he grasped onto the railing and hurried up even though he was walking almost leisurely. 

Øystein wondered what he was about to be shown as he climbed the stairs, listening as they dreamed ominously underneath his weight. The darkness just made it all worse, and Øystein didn't like feeling so cowardly, but it wasn't like Per was the most stable person in the world, and the flashlight had long disappeared in the darkness. 

When Øystein finally made it up, he saw the light and Per standing near his door, staring back at him with blank eyes. Øystein walked over, perhaps a little reluctantly, listening as the wind howled and the snow hit the roof. He wondered if he was about to be shown a dead animal. Øystein thought about it for a moment, and then decided that the idea was the most likely. 

The room was dark and felt bitterly cold, and there was a strange aura in there, like there was a forbidden darkness in there that not even the hundreds of performances that Øystein had done could prepare him for this. He stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of his position. 

Per rustled around on his desk, the papers flying onto the floor, pictures of twisted creatures and abandoned lyrics. Øystein watched, silent, watching as Per tossed around what seemed like millions of papers filled with millions of words and skillful drawings. 

Turning around, Per wordlessly held out a piece of paper, and Øystein took it. 

The paper was creased, and looked quite old, but even in the darkness, Øystein could make out the words - _**Your Face Is My Beacon**_ \- but the picture was of a creature with wide eyes and an almost pitiful look on its contorted face, like that of an old woman whose face was made of a soft, malleable material. 

"Pelle, what the fuck - " Øystein managed to say, right before Per leaned foward and kissed him. 

It was shy and slow and sweet, gentle and hesitant, and Øystein could feel feathery strands of blonde hair brushing against his face. His heart thrummed excitedly against his chest, and Per's body felt good against his own, fingertips brushing against Øystein's arm. 

Øystein remembered wondering about what Per's lips would feel like his own, and it felt - good, sweet. So much different than what they truly were, of tried to be, anyways. 

And then it registered that Per was _actually kissing him,_ that their lips were touching and their bodies were close and that this man who Øystein had once yelled at and shot a gun at because Per didn't like his synth music and kissing meant relationships and relationships meant being with a guy instead of a girl and the idea made Øystein's heart lurch and ' _what is everybody else going to think of you? Of him? Of this?'_

Time slipped by like diluted sand through fingers - Øystein pulled away and slapped Per across the face. He tossed the paper to the ground. Fear and anger and sadness blossomed in his chest, and Øystein couldn't deal with them, couldn't even begin to deal with what was going on. 

Per stumbled back, eyes wide, shocked, one of his hands raising to hold his reddened face. 

"I'm not a bloody faggot!" Øystein yelled "I'm not gay, I'm not like - _you."_

Silent, Per stared at the other man through his veil of hair. 

Øystein pressed his lips thinly together, his eyesight blinking red, hands clenched into fists by his side. "You're a freak." He said, voice harsh under the darkness of the eternal night, and then he turned and stormed out of the room. 


	16. Chapter 16

Jan startled awake to a slamming door and a racing heart. 

Looking around the dark room, Jan saw that Jørn was still deeply asleep, his arms tucked under his head to provide some comfort, but then he looked at the couch and felt his eyes widen when he realized that Øystein and Per were gone. 

Quickly, Jan stood up, reaching down for the flashlight that he'd been using for the book, but his hand hit nothing but the wooden table. He looked down with a frown, but moved on, walking into the kitchen. Jan could barely see where he was going, hands outstretched to drag along the wall so he wouldn't fall. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Øystein's sharp voice sounded, and Jan whirled around to stare at the guitarist, who was standing near the living room. He didn't have the flashlight on him, but, in the very faint light, he was an ominous shape that Jan took a small amount of comfort in. 

"Looking for you." Jan replied. "Where's Pelle?" He asked, looking around but not finding the blonde anywhere. 

Øystein's face twisted. "Upstairs." He said in a cold voice, turning and walking into the living room and out of view. 

Something didn't feel right, and Jan hated it, biting his bottom lip in worry as he looked toward the stairs. He quickly grabbed a flashlight from the table, hardly wanting to break his neck, before moving toward the stairs and climbing them hurriedly. Worry blossomed in Jan's chest, and dignity be damned, Per better not have done anything. 

The light was faint and the darkness seemed worse than ever on the second floor, but Jan found his way, his footsteps echoing as he walked down the hallway. The door to Per's room was closed. Jan looked down at the knob, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what was behind that door.

Was Per dead? Did Øystein have something to do with it? The thought made Jan's worry transform into anger, but he shoved it down into the depths of his mind, away from the light. He took a deep breath and put his hand down on the knob, the metal cold on his skin as he turned it and found that it wasn't locked. 

Jan decided to take that as a good sign, pushing the door open until it hit the wall with a small thump. He shined the light into the room, eyebrows furrowing. There was a piece of paper on the floor, and Per was on the bed, sitting on it with a stricken expression on his usually stoic face. 

"Pelle?" Jan said quietly, mindful of Jørn, even though he was downstairs. "What are you doing up here?" He tentatively stepped inside of the room, and the cold air burned his lungs. The room was furthest from the heater, which meant that it wasn't getting any of the provided warmth. 

With his hands folded on his lap, Per looked down at his feet. "Det är över." 

Blinking, Jan shook his head. "English." He said, sitting down on the bed and feeling his shoulder brush up against Per's. "I don't know what you're talking about, Pelle." He had a feeling about who it was, though. Jan sighed. "Did you two have an argument?" 

Per looked at the wall, his eyes wide, slowly shaking his head. 

"Oh. Well." Jan paused and thought for a moment, unsure of how to proceed with the situation at hand. He listened to the sounds outside and felt a chill run up his spine, making him shiver. "You're both difficult people." He said after a minute of searching for, but not finding a good reassurance. 

About to say something else, Jan cut himself short. "Pelle. What is that?" He asked sharply, reaching over and brushing away Per's damp hair from his face. 

There was a bright red mark, sticking out like a sore thumb from Per's pallid face.

"Did he hurt you, lille kanin?" Jan said, the nickname slipping out like snow from a mountain. "Pelle. Look at me." His voice was taking on a firmer, more harsh tone.

Per obeyed, and his eyes looked like shattered glass when he looked at Jan with such a strange combination of numbness and heartbreak. His hands were shaking, and he was starting to force his jagged nails into his skin. "Det är mitt fel, allt mitt fel..." He said. 

"No, stop that." Jan grabbed Per's hands, feeling them scratch his own hands in result of terrified desperation, but he figured that it was better than Per harming himself. "What happened?" He asked sharply. 

Shutting his eyes closed, Per began to rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. "Det är mitt fel, Jan. Jag gjorde det, jag gjorde det, jag gjorde det!" He pulled his hands from Jan's grasp, pulling at his sleeves to expose the bloodied gauze around his wrists. He began to try and unsuccessfully unwrap the gauze, desperation making him clumsy. 

Jan grabbed Per's arms. "No, just calm down." He lightly shook Per, hoping to bring him out of what seemed like a daze. "Pelle!" Jan shook him again. 

"Jag vill åka hem, jag vill ha hem, mitt hem." Per clenched his fists, looking down toward the bed. "Ha hem, Jan." He sounded heartbroken, stricken by grief over a situation that Jan didn't even know existed. 

It took a minute for Jan to realize that Per was crying, that there were tears and he suddenly had no idea what he was supposed to do. Jan didn't know how to comfort people, because he'd never been in an position where he'd had to do such a thing. He lived in a cabin with three other guys, after all - crying around other people wasn't exactly a common occurrence. 

And it wasn't like Per cried often. In fact, Jan had never seen him so upset before, even when he was screaming and having a breakdown like a child. 

"What happened, lille kanin?" Jan asked. "Just tell me. I won't judge." He softened his voice, wondering if his harsher tone has frightened Per. 

Per shook his head, his teeth clenched so tightly that it was a wonder that he hadn't broken his own jaw already. 

Faced with the sudden silence, Jan moved his hand to the side of Per's face but stilled when he flinched with sudden fervor. Jan winced apologetically. "Sorry." 

' _Goddamn you down to Hell, Øystein, you son of a bitch.'_ Jan thought, loosening his grip on Per, if only slightly. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, and as the wind continued to howl and the storm continued to rage, he was suddenly faced with the idea of everything going to Hell. 

There was some things that couldn't be spoken, however, and certain thoughts that couldn't be breached. Jan didn't want to think about what had happened while he was asleep, and didn't want to ask himself if Per would do something dumb while obviously so emotional. 

"Let's lay down." Jan said, completely letting go of Per's arms so he wouldn't feel trapped. "I'll stay up here with you. How would that sound?" He felt strangely like a parent talking to their upset child, but supposed that being soft just this once couldn't hurt. 

It wasn't like Per would mention it later, anyways, to embarrass him. 

Jan stood up, and, without argument, Per shifted toward the pillows, slowly but surely until he was half-lying down, and then he paused, almost as if in thought over something. Jan looked at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows and the faint tears that were still glistening, but then Per lay down rather awkwardly. 

"Try to get some sleep, Pelle." Jan said quietly. 

Although Jan doubted that any real resting would take place, Per's eyes closed, and he curled himself into a fetal position, looking troubled. He curled his fingers into the sheet, a distant gaze in his eyes. A moment later, they slid shut. 

Standing there for a moment, Jan turned around and looked at the room, his eye catching on the paper that was on the floor. He looked over his shoulder at Per, but it seemed like the blonde was finally catching up on his much-needed sleep, so Jan stepped foward and bent down, grabbing the paper and rising back up. 

A moment later, Jan blinked once, then twice. 

And then he looked back at Per, almost as if in disbelief. 

Jan wasn't an idiot - he had trouble with the uptake sometimes, yes, but he wasn't dumb, and the paper in his hand was passionate proof for that. He didn't know what to feel, and that scared him. Jan felt a strange combination of curiosity and shock, disgust, pity. The paper wasn't incriminating, per say, but it didn't take a genius to figure it all out, to put together the pieces. 

For a moment, Jan wanted to be angry - he wanted to yell and slam the door but then he saw Per and that horrid mark on his face and decided that he couldn't do that, so Jan walked over and placed the paper on the desk. There, it sat among several like its own - creatures and words in bold lettering, but none so damning as itself. 

The idea was confusing and Jan didn't like it, but he supposed that there was nothing much that could be done. He felt like the whole world was suddenly resting on his shoulders, the weight of the news heavy and thick. Jan sat down at the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling very awkward. 

Per was asleep, Jan could tell. He could tell when Per's shoulders slumped and his breathing evened out. Jan wished he had some sort of idea of how he was supposed to proceed, and he rested his hand on Per's leg. Even deep in sleep, he tensed underneath the touch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - 
> 
> 1\. It's all over. 
> 
> 2\. Little Rabbit.
> 
> 3\. It's my fault, it's all my fault. 
> 
> 4\. It's my fault, Jan. I did it, I did it, I did it!
> 
> 5\. I want to go home, I want home, my home. 
> 
> 6\. My home, Jan.


	17. Chapter 17

Øystein tried to sit down, but he couldn't rest, and so he stood back up, panic making his heart pound unpleasantly against his ribcage and anger making his body feel hot, like the snow outside had been replaced by molten lava. He clenched his fists, paced to one side of the room, and then paced back. 

The last twenty or so minutes had passed in a furious blur, and Øystein couldn't make sense of the actions and words that'd come into existence. He felt unsure, angry, sad, and yet, throughout it all, the feeling of intense pleasure lingered throughout his body. 

' _Disgusting!'_ Øystein thought, walking into the kitchen and turning on the faucet. A small part of him wondered if it really was so disgusting, though, as he cupped the water inside of his hands and washed his face, as if to erase the feeling of another man. 

It didn't work. It didn't work at all, in fact. Øystein felt sick to his stomach, and he leaned over, forcing himself to take a deep breath in spite of the white-hot panic that was coursing through his body. ' _Goddamnit, Per! Why did you do that?'_ Øystein thought, clutching the counter hard enough that his knuckles turned white. 

But Øystein already knew the answer, and he loathed it. He grit his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache, running a tired hand through his hair as he remembered how Per had seemed happy, in that moment. Nervous and shy but happy for once in his life. 

' _What if he does something? Rejection does bad things to people, and it isn't like he was already the most stable person on the planet...'_ Øystein sighed, and he looked up at the ceiling. Jan had went up there, but not so much as a faint footstep had been hears since then. 

The fear was like ice in Øystein's chest as he wondered about what Jan would find up there. Would he connect the pieces? Was he smart enough to do such a thing? Øystein didn't know, and the uncertainty drove him crazy. He shut off the water, wiped his face with a paper towel, and bit his lip. 

For a moment, Øystein could've been fooled into thinking that he'd done right by his dignity, by his sexuality, but he had to face the cold, hard facts sooner than later, and those facts felt like a slap to his face. ' _Figures.'_ Øystein thought, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, feeling more than a little upset. 

No straight man thought about another male like Øystein did. For awhile, he had fooled himself into thinking that it was just some sort of twisted fascination, but it wasn't so simple, Øystein knew. Per held this weird, strange possession over him, and it was terrifying. 

Øystein had thought that he would've had forever to figure out his twisted emotions. He hadn't expected for shy, quiet Per to make the first step, to jump when all he had to do was wait. Øystein wondered if he was stupid for that assumption, if he should've covered all his bases, been more guarded with Per to prevent such a thing from happening. 

This wasn't anybody's fault but his own, although it hurt Øystein to admit such a thing. Per didn't know - he'd just gone with what had seemed okay to him, and it wasn't like Øystein had pushed him away like a normal person. No, he'd enjoyed it for those few seconds that they'd stood there. 

But then panic had taken over and Per had looked so devastated as he stood there, rejected and hurt, alone. Øystein's mind became filled with images of Per, bloodied and dead, bleeding out on the floor, sitting there with the shotgun pressed up against his throat. 

Again, Øystein looked up at the ceiling. He wondered if Per was dying. If he was already dead. If he'd sealed everybody's fate. 

Suddenly, Jørn walked into the kitchen, his eyes half-closed and his shoes dragging across the floor. He stood there for a long minute, and then he turned and looked at Øystein. "Where did Jan and Pelle go?" He asked. 

"Upstairs." Øystein muttered, not in the mood to play twenty questions with Jørn, although he supposed that he was doomed to entertain him anyways. That was life, and perhaps his penance. 

"Why?" Jørn asked. 

Øystein had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. "Pelle was having a freakout." He said. The lie didn't feel like a lie. "So don't go up there, okay?" 

For a moment, Jørn stared at him, all big brown eyes that seemed to imply that he didn't trust Øystein nor any of his answers. He opened his mouth, but then paused. "Do you hear that?" He suddenly asked. 

"No." Øystein replied. 

"Exactly! It's nothing! The wind stopped." Jørn's face broke out into a wide, cheerful grin. "Finally!" He sighed, sounding immensely relieved. 

Øystein supposed that he should've been, too, but all he felt was a sick combination of sadness and disgust. He scratched the back of his neck, and was once again reminded of Per's wide-eyed stare, holding his face and watching as the one time he did something out of the ordinary, he was punished for it, like a child who'd thought he'd been doing right by himself and everybody else. 

"It waited long enough." Øystein mumbled. 

Jørn tossed his head back, cackling like a hen. "Damn right! Ah, I should go and tell Jan. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that he won't be stuck with the rest of us." 

"Wait, no! What'd I just say? Leave them alone." Øystein said sharply. "Go and do whatever you do when you're bored." He motioned his hand in dismissal before turning around, hoping to end the conversation before it'd even started. 

" _Somebody_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Jørn said in a snarky tone. 

Øystein didn't answer, pretending to pick at his nails but then Jørn walked back into the living room, leaving Øystein to rot in his own misery. With a sigh, Øystein walked out of the kitchen, knowing that he couldn't stay in there forever. 

The stairs creaked and moaned like a dying man when Øystein climbed them, his footsteps hesitant, unsure of what he would find up there and not really knowing what he was doing. As they always say, curiosity killed the cat, and Øystein just kept coming back, never really learning his lesson after the first time around. 

' _Let's face the truth - you like this.'_ Øystein paused, and he wondered if it was true. 

Standing in front of the stairs, staring at Per's door, Øystein suddenly stalked into his room and slammed the door shut, hard enough to make his teeth clench and the walls seemed to shake with the force. 

Øystein yelled out, suddenly angry at so many things and so many people. He kicked the wall and the wood felt hard and stiff. Øystein hissed through his teeth and stumbled back, his eyes burning with unwanted tears, burying his face in his hands as his foot ached and the sudden realization of his actions fell atop of him like dirt on a coffin. 

"Fuck! Fuck this shit!" Øystein yelled. "Fuck. This. Shit!" He upended the nightstand, hearing the clock that was on it topple over and break, joined next by a picture frame. Øystein grabbed the posters that he pinned to the wall and tore at the thin paper, ripping them off and tossing the remains to the ground. 

Everything that was fragile and easily breakable became shards on the ground as the world seemed to fall apart around Øystein. He ripped the drawers from his desk and tossed them against the wall, spilling the contents, new and old alike. 

Years could've passed, but only twenty minutes had gone by. Øystein uttered a thin sob and fell onto his bed, feeling so pathetic, but being unable to stop himself from laying there and sobbing like a child. His shoulders shook, and he grit his teeth hard enough to send a bolt of pain through his jaw. 

Øystein didn't know when he fell asleep, but all of a sudden, his eyes were opening and he was jolting into a sitting position, feeling as though he were being watched. 

The room was even darker than it had been, and there was a weird, strange sense of tension in the air. Øystein frowned and stood up, looking around his room, unsure of what exactly he was searching for but knowing that it wad going to be something terrible. 

And, sure enough, it was something, or perhaps, _someone,_ that made a shiver of shock crawl up Øystein's spine. He stared, eyes widening, his mouth suddenly dry as he took in the sight that greeted him. 

Per had his sleeves rolled up, exposing bloodied gauze and old scars. His eyes were pale, intent, cold, as he sat on a chair in the corner, cloaked in the darkness like he belonged there. He had the shotgun propped up between his legs, with one of his fingers pressed against the trigger, lightly pushing down, chancing the death that he was always chasing. 

"Oh, no..." Øystein moaned, suddenly sick to his stomach. "Pelle." He said weakly, wanting to run over and grab the shotgun but he couldn't, and everything was going too fast, roo soon. 

Outside, it was pure silence. 

It terrified Øystein beyond belief. "Pelle, please don't - please don't, Pelle." 

But Per only stared. "You don't want this?" He said in a light, airy tone. His eyebrows raised up, as if he was surprised. "No, Øystein? No more?" 

"No!" Øystein felt angry and terrified. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared at the worst thing he'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. "No, never in a million years, Pelle!" 

"I don't believe you." Per rested his throat against the shotgun, his actions deceptively casual and utterly insane. "I haven't believed you in awhile now, my friend, up until our - encounter." He said. 

"What in the world are you on?" Øystein snapped. "Just let us talk, Pelle. Just put the shotgun down and we can talk." He raised his hands in a placating gesture but it seemed to do nothing but make Per flinch. Øystein, embarrassed and ashamed, lowered his hands. "You don't have to do this, Pelle." 

Per only stared. "Yes, I do." His lips twisted, but it wasn't in a real smile. It looked more like a pained grimace. "I need to go - _home._ My home isn't here, 'Stein, we've made that clear." He said softly. 

"No, we haven't. Pelle, _please!"_ Øystein was willing to fall to his knees, to clasp his hands and pray to whatever inhuman deity was above, just so Per didn't die, not tonight. "What happened earlier, that's not some signal for you to kill yourself." 

"You don't know that." Per whispered. 

"Yes, I do. For fuck's sake, Pelle. Believe me!" Øystein yelled. 

Per looked at Øystein, silent and woeful. His hair covered his face like a thin veil, and his hand shook. "Jag var aldrig dödlig. Jag var aldrig riktigt här." He said. 

And then he pressed down. 

So quick that he was a mere blur, Øystein lunged across the room and knocked the shotgun out of Per's hands. The gun fell to the floor and went off loudly, bathing the room in a shocking white light. 

Øystein's ears were ringing and black spots danced in his vision. He took a deep breathe and then looked frantically at the new hole in the wood, jagged and round and inanimate, and he looked at Per, who was pouting like a child and rubbing the side of his head and over his ear. 

"That was _loud."_ Per said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS - 
> 
> 1\. I was never mortal. I was never really here.


	18. Chapter 18

Øystein didn't know what or who he was supposed to be looking at - the new hole in the wall, or Per. 

The ringing in Øystein's ears was like a bell, persistent and loud. He rubbed the side of his head and winced. "Fuck." He breathed out. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Øystein splayed his hands and then stared at Per, who only looked back with a tired peace in his blue eyes. 

Per lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and then he lifted his legs onto the chair so that he was sitting criss-cross, calm as could be. He didn't seem too bothered by what had just happened, and Øystein didn't know if he should've been relieved or even more concerned by that. 

As more of a response, the door slammed open, and Jan stood there, eyes wide and hair mussed. He looked at Per, and then at Øystein, and then down at the hole that'd appeared in the wall in a flash of light. He stood there, looking panicked and afraid, and then his face contorted in anger. 

"What the actual fuck?" Jan burst out. "Pelle - what were you - " He gestured frantically around the room, as if unable to find the suitable words to explain all the emotions that he was feeling. 

Øystein shook his head, and then he stepped foward, bending down and grabbing the shotgun from the ground. He looked down at it, and then set it against the wall, far away from where Per could grab it. But despite the measure, it still didn't feel right, to have such an easy device for death to be so close to Per. Øystein looked at Jan, suddenly realizing that he was the person who was supposed to explain everything. 

Suddenly, words didn't seem to suit the situation. Øystein looked down at the floor, and didn't knpw what to say, because words couldn't properly describe what was going on. "Pelle was going to do it." He finally said. "He had the gun against his throat." Øystein felt strangely ashamed, and he should've been guilty, too, because if not for his actions, then Per wouldn't have abandoned his favorite pass time of cutting his wrists in favor of trying to shoot himself. 

Jan stared at Øystein, dark and intense and angry. His fists clenched, and then, suddenly, all the fight seemed to seep from Jan's body, and he looked away, as if unable to stare Øystein in the eyes. "Right." He said softly, and in the deep tresses of his voice, Jan sounded betrayed. "Alright, okay." Jan repeated. 

But it wasn't okay, now, was it? Øystein suddenly had a bad feeling in his gut, and it made him feel sick. He wanted to run to the bathroom and throw up, but he forced the feeling down. "I want to speak to Pelle. Alone." He said. 

A sharp, harsh laugh bubbled from Jan's throat. It sounded incredulous. "Like fucking Hell that you will." He said, shaking his head. 

"What's keeping me?" Øystein asked. 

"I am." Jan stepped foward. He was the same height as Øystein, but Jan had more muscle, and there was something dark and intent about Jan that seemed to imply a definite threat. "I'm keeping you." 

Per stiffened. "No, Jan." He said. "No, no." He raised his hands and pulled on his hair, looking stressed. 

"What's wrong with you?" Øystein demanded harshly. His temper was flaring and beginning to rise. His fists clenched and he began to scowl heavily, his dark eyebrows furrowing. "This is none of your goddamn business, _Jan._ So just leave."

"I have news for you." Jan got closer, and something dangerous flashed in his dark eyes. "I know what's going on, Øystein. I know what's happening between you and Pelle. Don't take me for a idiot." Jan raised his hands and shoved Øystein toward the bed. 

Øystein fell onto his ass with a grunt, gritting his teeth hard. "What do you - " But then he stopped, the realization dawning on him like the approaching sun, and the room suddenly felt very, very cold. 

"No, no. Jan, no!" Per looked up suddenly. "You _know."_ He hissed. 

"I'm sorry." Jan said sincerely, turning to look at Per, his face suddenly softening from the hard mask that'd been over it. "It wasn't much of a stretch to assume, really." Jan paused, and then he sighed. "Pelle, go downstairs." 

"You don't know." Per shook his head, his eyes wide and weary. "You know but you don't know." He stood up, and for a moment, he looked like a dead man who had just lurched up from the grave and back to life. 

Per stared at both of them and neither of them at once. He seemed to not be in the room at the same time that he stood in there, a pale, solid presence. He looked and gave Øystein a single, mournful look before he turned on the heel of his boot and walked out of the room. 

Something in the air seemed to change - whatever sadness disappeared, and it was replaced by a fierce, white-hot anger that made the room feel hot, stuffy and the air was hard to breath. Øystein got back to his feet, and he shoved Jan back, less out of anger and more out of a need for retaliation, to even out the score. 

With his shoulders squared, Jan was an immovable rock. "You think I'm just going to let everything you did pass by like it didn't even matter? Just say, 'oh, yes, Pelle, go run ahead to the guy that hit you'?" Jan snarled. 

Øystein's heart twisted, and he hated it. "It's none of your fucking business, Jan." 

"It _is_ my business!" Jan smacked his hand on the desk. "I just had to go into his room and comfort Pelle because he was upset! He was five seconds away from slitting his fucking wrists and giving up on everything!" He looked genuinely upset by the words, and then Jan's shoulders slumped and he sat down on the chair beside the desk. 

Sitting there, back hunched, Jan rested his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands. "I've been talking to his father." He muttered, voice muffled. 

"What?" Øystein stood up, his back ramrod straight. "Why?" He demanded. 

"Oh, use your brain for once." Jan snapped, sounding annoyed. "Stop and put yourself in Pelle's parents' place. Pelle is sick and he's dangerous to himself and he doesn't call his parents unless he needs to. Why else do you think his father only shows up every few months? If not for me, he'd build a cabin next door." 

Øystein opened his mouth, and then he closed it. He wasn't sure whether to start calling or to just accept what Jan was saying, because it was true, after all. Per's father was notoriously protective, and would likely drive over from Sweden at the slightest signal of something being wrong. 

"Okay." Øystein said. "Okay." He repeated. "What have you been telling him?" 

"That Pelle hasn't killed himself yet, what else?" Jan said. "I've been telling him that things are okay." He shrugged. 

And, maybe, Øystein thought, that was a very good thing, because he had no doubt that Mr. Ohlin would have his head if there was any knowledge about what had happened in the last 24 hours. 


	19. Chapter 19

Jan suddenly looked very tired. "I'm not saying that I want Pelle to leave and never come back because, and I believe I've said this before, you're gonna fuckin' take it that way." He pressed his lips thinly together. "But I'm not above calling his father."

His lips twisting in a scowl, Øystein felt his fists clench and he wasn't even aware that he was doing it. "You wouldn't fucking _dare."_ He hissed. 

"Try me." Jan sounded tired, too, and eerily calm. "As soon as the phone lines are back up in town, I will go and call. I will say, 'yes, Mr. Ohlin? Pelle just slit his wrists and pressed a shotgun to his throat.' And we both know that he will race over here and take Pelle away, for his sake, because how are we helping him?" 

"What are you talking about? You're going around and around in circles." Øystein shook his head, trying not to think about the implications of what was being said.

"No, Øystein, you're just not listening." Jan stood up, and, in the darkness, he looked like an ominous shape, a creature from old legend. "How are _we_ helping _him?"_ He asked. 

"What - " Øystein suddenly broke off. He stared at Jan, and Jan stared back. "I can't believe you're saying all these things." Øystein said, and the faint incredulity in his voice seemed to seal his fate. 

"But I am." Jan said quietly. "I'm saying this for Pelle's sake. If you really, truly care about him, then you are going to either...do _something_ to fix this, or allow me to call somebody who will know how to care for him." He said it like a cold, hard fact, and maybe it was. 

"I don't _care about him!"_ Øystein yelled, and he jumped back, as if he'd been startled by something. He felt disgusted again. "How can - how can anybody care about him?" He wiped his hands on his pants, as if h'd just touched something foul and wretched. 

"Then where in the world did Pelle get the idea he could kiss you, hmmm?" Jan said, raising his eyebrows and looking unusually smug. 

Øystein didn't want to answer. He didn't want to be known as the guitarist who was in love with his vocalist. He didn't like it. ' _Fagfagfagfag.'_ Øystein hated it, and he shook his head, as if to clear his hesd of that terrible voice. "He's crazy." Was the only answer that Øystein could give. 

"Yes." Jan said. "But he wouldn't kiss anybody without _knowing_ that he'd be accepted. You know how badly he rejects those sorts of things, although I suppose that he wasn't given a chance like he'd thought." He pulled a box of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, opened it, and placed the last one between his lips before digging around in his pockets for his lighter. 

"Oh, fuck off." Øystein grabbed his lighter from his nightstand and tossed it. "I don't think you would take being kissed by that psycho very good, either." 

"I'm not the one who loves him." Jan caught the lighter and bent down, cupping his free hand over the tiny, dancing flame. 

"I don't." Øystein whispered. "I don't love him. He's just - " He couldn't say the words anymore. They wouldn't come. Øystein felt like he was lying and it made him feel ashamed, like he'd been caught by his mother with his hand in the cookie jar. "I don't love him I don't love him I don't love him." 

But Jan's face was a blank slate. He looked calm and like he could sit there all day, cigarette between his lips, and say whatever he pleased. "You do love him." 

" _No I don't so just shut the fuck up! I hate him, I hate that fucking asshole!"_ Øystein could hear the lies, could taste them as the words slipped from his tongue. " _I hate him I hate him I hate - !"_ But no, Øystein didn't hate Per, not anymore than Per seemed to hate himself to rip open his skin and bleed onto the ground. 

Øystein loved Per, and the truth hit him like a runaway freight train. Øystein needed Per, like the sun needed the moon, or perhaps it was the other way around. Øystein felt his heart beat faster at the mere mention of Per, felt it do somersaults whenever their skin brushed up against each other's in a fleeting touch. Per's smile was like Øystein's drug, and he couldn't get enough. 

As of all the fight had been drained from his body, Øystein suddenly felt limp, and he fell back onto the bed. "I fucking love him." He said, and suddenly, Øystein felt very cold, but it was from fear rather than disgust. 

But Jan only smiled in that I-told-you-so-you-actual-fucking-idiot way of his. "Did that feel so bad?" He asked, sitting back and plucking his cigarette from his lips, blowing out smoke, which plumed to the ceiling.

"It felt awful." Øystein's hands were shaking. He felt very afraid. "Nobody can know, _nobody at all!_ Not even Jørn." Øystein tried to stand up but his knees felt weak and so he sat back down. 

"Okay." Jan put the cigarette back in his mouth. "Do you know how much I desperately wish that I wasn't part of this?" He waved his hand in the air with a dismissive gesture, as if it didn't matter. 

Øystein looked down at his hands. He couldn't stop watching as they shuddered and shivered and shook. "Then don't. Forget all about it. Pretend it never existed."

"Oh, 'Stein, you're such an idiot." Jan shook his head, looking torn between annoyance and begrudging amusement. "How can I just forget about everything that's happened? How can I look at Pelle and just go, 'well, you're on your own now, pal,' and just leave you two hopeless fools to whatever the fuck this is?" 

"I don't know, but do it." Øystein said. He grabbed his jacket off of the chair and slipped into it. "I'm not about to deal with Pelle _and_ you, asshole." He scowled, taking one last glance toward the shotgun hole in the wall before deciding that it could wait. 

The bullet had probably passed into the bathroom, anyways. There was nothing that could be done about it. 

"And I'm not about to leave Pelle at your mercy, bastard." Jan appeared suddenly, his face twisted in an imitation snarl, like a wild animal. "One wrong move, and I'm calling Mr. Ohlin." 

"One wrong move, and you're out of the band." Øystein couldn't believe that he was being threstened by his drummer for such a stupid, ridiculous reason, so he snapped back, leaning foward so that they were staring at each other, angry yet uncertain, lost in the unfamiliar emotions. 

They stared at each other, angry, and Jan's hands were clenched, as if he were prepared to punch Øystein if the need came over him. The implications of such an action were ones that Øystein didn't want nor care to think about. 

"Okay, okay." Jørn suddenly appeared, his hands raised in the air and his fingers splayed. "Can somebody please explain to me _what the literal, actual fuck_ is going on here?!" He looked between Jan and Øystein, looking torn between emotions and left to wonder what was hell was happening. 

Øystein turned around, and he opened his mouth, about to confess, but then he snapped it shut again. "None of your business." He replied, instead of doing what was obviously needed and confessing the truth. 

"Oh, shut up." Jørn snapped, and he turned to Jan. "What the fuck is happening here? Nobody's telling me about what's going on and I hate it!" He stamped his foot like an upset toddler. 

"It's a very private matter." Jan said, remorseful for having to lie but knowing that he didn't have a choice. "I'll be downstairs." He looked at Øystein, and anger flashed on his eyes before he walked away and down the stairs, so quickly that it was like he'd never been there at all. 

-

Per was laying on the couch, turning his arm every which way so he could stare at how his blood, red twinged with black, blossomed like a rorschach on the gauze that had been so carefully wrapped around his cuts. He was alone, which was just fine in Per's little world. 

The snow had stopped, and the world outside was dark and grey. The trees were big and their branches looked like arms. Per imagined them as monsters, awaiting for a human or animal to stumble upon them before they bent down and scooped the creature up into their sharp grasp. 

A small part of Per wanted to go upstairs and grab his pencil and notebook so he could sketch these creatures, but he felt tired and his legs didn't seem to be capable of much more than to curl up so he could fit on the short couch. Per lay his arms underneath his head, and remembered how angry Øystein had looked when they'd kissed. 

It confused Per. He didn't know why Øystein had seemed to want him so much, and then he'd pushed Per away and slapped him and called him disgusting and then, just a few hours later, he wasn't telling Per to do what he so obviously wanted for him to do. Instead, Øystein had slapped the gun away and Per felt confused and rather sad. He didn't like the emotions that were blossoming in his chest, and didn't like how they were affecting him. 

Love was a touchy subject for Per. In terms of romance, he didn't feel such a thing. He loved his mother and father and brother, but he'd never entertained or thought of any romantic notions regarding anybody. But with Øystein, Per felt something beyond the love he had for his family, and he supposed that it was romantic love, but didn't know for sure. 

When they'd kissed, Per had liked it. He had thought that Øystein has liked it, too. 

' _Did he not?'_ Per's gaze shifted to the stairs, and he watched as Jan came down to the first floor, looking angry and frustrated, shaking his head rather slowly. Jan caught Per's eye, and he smiled in a way that seemed harsh and forced. 

Jan was confusing. He was weird, and not in that uncanny way that Jørn was. Per didn't know how to explain it, and doubted that he ever would. All he could do was look toward the ceiling, and at the darkness that hovered in the corners.

"How do you feel?" Jan asked, his voice soft and deliberately gentle. He sat down near Per's feet, eyes open, face wanting, and Per frowned. He didn't know what to say. He remembered the dream, and his promise to the shadowed man about no telling. ' _Ridiculous, Pelle. You're not a child.'_ Per felt ashamed. 

Lifting his shoulders, Per shrugged. He didn't know what he felt - cold, empty. 

Sympathetic, Jan reached over and lightly pat Per's side. "I'm sorry, Pelle."

Per didn't know how to ask about what Jan was sorry for, just like, shocked into silence, he hadn't been able to ask why Øystein was so mad. Per had done what he'd supposed to have done, after all. But he'd been punished for it, just like when he had been a child and, lost in the sea of a playground, he'd approached the other kids and asked to play but they'd beaten him up instead of allowing him o partake in their game of chase. 

The room was suddenly, uncomfortabl warm. Per still shivered though, as the ice creeped through his bones. He could feel his heart beating against his arm, fast and panicked and fearful. Per wasn't sure what to make of that, ' _Only humans are supposed to have such things',_ but he would never mention it. 

After all, Øystein had looked like he'd wanted to toss himself out the window when Per had first told him of his knowledge, why should Jan and Jørn be any different? Per suddenly was struck with the intense urge to go home, not to the otherwordly place that he urged to know, but to Sweden, the familiar place that he'd always known. 

But nobody had to know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye.


	20. Chapter 20

Øystein stood on the top step of the stairs, telling himself to _move goddamnit,_ but the idea of going there and looking at Per and Jan and seeing the silent anger and that lost hope just made Øystein feel like he was about to be sick. Reality told him that, sooner or later, he'd have to go down there, but Øystein that, at that specific moment, he deserved some peace. 

And then Jørn appeared over his shoulder. "You're scared." He said, and if that wasn't simultaneously the scariest and most irritating thing that Øystein had ever heard, then he was an idiot. 

"Fuck you." Øystein said, gripping the railing so tightly at a bolt of pain went through his hand. "Fucking Jan and his stupid little comments." He twisted his lips in a snarl and shook his head. Maybe, just maybe, if it'd only been Per down there, Øystein could've handled it. But no, Jan just had to poke his nose where it didn't belong and make a mess of everything. 

"So, you _are_ scared." Jørn tossed his head back so that he could see from behind his hair. One of his eyebrows were perked in that classical look of disbelief. "Our great and dear leader is scared of a drummer and Pelle." Jørn smiled and laughed, like this was funny, like the whole mess of funny. 

Øystein resisted the urge to turn around and punch Jørn. Instead, he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes until the redness around the edges disappeared. "I am not scared. Jan thinks I'm a total asshole and Pelle, well..." Øystein shrugged. "He thinks I'm an asshole, too. He just doesn't know it." Øystein had to admit that he was being a complete and total idiot about Per, but he had to idea how to fix that particular problem. 

"I'm sure he doesn't." Jørn said. "Well, Jan definitely does. But Per? Nah." Jørn waved his hand in the air, as if the whole idea was preposterous in itself. He smiled, perhaps a little too kindly for his own sake. "I trust that you'll figure this out, my friend. You're the leader of fucking Mayhem, of course you will!" 

The confidence in Jørn was astounding, and as the bassist ducked past Øystein and walked downstairs with unusual speed, the words repeated themselves through Øystein's head, like a broken record. He was the leader of Mayhem, but in the areas of just about everything else, Jan took the lead because he gave a damn about people other than himself. 

Jan was annoying and he was stupid but he was selfless. He always thought of other people before himself, and Øystein didn't, whether it be a product of his upbringing or just simply because it was his personality. Jørn was much of the same way, not so much selfless as he was kind. Per wasn't selfish, but then again, he'd never been in a position of power enough to be selfish. 

Whether Øystein could admit it freely or not, he was selfish, and he was mean to the three people who were standing by him and trusting him with their careers and, in Per's case, life. Øystein groaned at the thought, knowing that he had so much to do, and so little time to do it. If Per did another stint, then who was to say that Øystein would be there to save him? 

"Are you coming?" Jørn yelled. "We don't have all day, asshole!" He sounded suspiciously giddy, and Øystein's narrowed, his mouth pinching as he imagined what exactly was going down there. 

"If you can imagine, we do have all day." Øystein snapped, forcing his legs to move so he could walk downstairs. Jan was staring at him, all harsh, dark eyes that seemed to whisper more threats than any words could. 

Jan sighed, breaking eye contact and looked down at Per's legs when Øystein raised his eyebrow in silent question. "The snow _did_ stop." Jan said. "Although, we will have to wait for the snowplow to come, I'm sure, at least to get to town." 

"Which I think is great, because you three are driving me crazy." Jørn pulled out a stack of cards from his coat pocket. He smiled mischievously. "I'm about to kick everybody's ass at this game." He said, as if in warning. 

"Oh, no. I'm not about to do this." Øystein shook his head. He was having enough migraines without having to play poker with Jan and Jørn, neither of whom were the best people to be with when you just wanted to have a fun time. 

"Yes, you are." Jan glared. "Now come sit down, or else I'll make you." He loomed determined and strangely serious, and Øystein wasn't willing to take that chance, so he sighed and walked over, sitting down on his abandoned chair before he would be forced to do so. 

Per was staring. Øystein could feel those sharp, placid eyes on his skin, and it made him itch and shrink back against the chair. Øystein didn't like it but he couldn't help it. Jørn began to mix the cards, a firm, pleased little smile on his face. Jan was biting his fingernails, looking somewhere else. 

The tension in the air was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Øystein was usually the one who brought the knife, but, at that moment, he couldn't. He couldn't because he was so scared that Jan would say something. Jan was a nice guy, but Øystein knew that he didn't agree with _that_ sort of shit. Øystein didn't even agree with it either, but he was kinda being hypocritical there, because he was having less-than-friendly thoughts about another man. 

Suddenly, as Jørn handed Øystein his cards, Øystein suddenly wondered if Per knew that Jan knew. He thought back to when Per was sat there with the gun pressed against his throat. Øystein thought back to the paper that'd been shyly handed to him back upstairs. He looked at Per, and nearly flinched at the look in the younger man's eyes. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jørn asked, looking between Jan and Øystein, his mouth pinched in confusion. "Can we please have five fucking seconds of normalcy around here?" He said, shaking his head, looking exasperated. 

"If you wanted normalcy, you shouldn't have joined a band called 'Mayhem', now, should you?" Jan said patiently. 

Øystein looked down at his cards. "Let's just play." He muttered. 

"No, no, no." Jørn looked angry now. "Pelle, what's going on?" He asked, and, at that moment, Øystein could've punched him for that one moment of intelligence, because Jørn _knew_ that Per was blunt and would just say it. He didn't understand the threats, nor did he understand the situation at hand. In many ways, Per was a dark shape in the night sky, and, in others, he was a lost child who didn't know that what he was doing was, technically, wrong. 

"Don't, Jørn. Trust me, you don't want to know." Jan gave Per a purposeful look, and then turned back so he was looking at Øystein. "Now, are we playing or not?" 

"Not until somebody tells me what's going on!" Jørn snapped, and he slapped a card down on the table. "Hit me." He said. 

"Gladly." Øystein punched Jørn on his shoulder, and he hit hard. 

Per stood up and walked into the kitchen, his arms wrapped around his torso. He walked fast, disappearing before the fact that he'd moved could settle in Øystein's mind. Jan sighed and went to stand up, but Øystein was faster. He stood up and held up his hand. 

As Jørn, irritated, watched, Øystein looked at Jan's annoyed face and tried to find the break of reluctant agreement in his dark eyes. " _Please."_ Øystein said, and he sounded pathetic. He hated that, but, for now, he'd allow it. "Please, Jan. Five minutes, just five." Øystein would do it even if Jan rejected the plea, but the peace was better kept. 

For a moment, Jan looked like was about to say 'no', but then he sighed, and gestured vaguely in the air. "Five minutes." He said. 

And that was all Øystein needed as he turned tail and walked into the kitchen, feeling the cold air as it whispered and pinched at his skin. He didn't know what he was about to do, but he needed to do _something,_ and that was becoming increasingly obvious. 

The kitchen was dark, but the sun was just beginning to shine through, and the softest golden rays peaked through from the blinds. Øystein should've felt relieved, but all he felt was the cold knowledge of everything that was happening underneath the waves. He stood in the threshold of the kitchen, and looked around. Øystein didn't like the look on Per's face, but knew that he could only do little about it. 

"Hi, Pelle." Øystein said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He leaned against the countertop, arms crossed. He didn't know what to say, what to do, and could only look at Per's pale face. 

Per only stared, blonde hair framing his face, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, seemingly torn between the mental battle within his mind. "I'm going home." He whispered, and it sounded like a secret. 

After hearing Per only speak in Swedish for the last several hours, the English sounded strange and grotesque. "Home? As in - you not being a human?" Øystein hated the way that Per seemed to think that he above being such a thing, that he was some creature beyond thought. 

"No. Home. Sweden." Per said. 

Øystein blinked. "Sweden? But - why?" He shook his head, unable to believe the words that were being spoken. 

"What is for me here, 'Stein? A man who wants my touch but cannot stand it?" Per raised his eyebrows. "A drummer who pity's me and a bassist who believes that I'm crazy? Don't fool me. My parents and brother think that I'm a psychotic mess but they love me. _That,_ I understand." Per said. 

"You can't leave!" Øystein stepped foward. "You're the voice of this band!" He was avoiding the meat of this issue, trying not to bring up what has happened.

"Perhaps. But you're the voice in my head, telling me that life would be better with me dead." Per said snidely. "So, we're even." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'll be back.


	21. Chapter 21

The words repeated themselves like a broken record in Øystein's mind, filled with spite and hurt snd unspoken feelings and emotions that would probably never be said because Øystein was a fucking asshole and he was staring at Per, trying to figure out the implications of those words. Øystein clenched his fist, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. He didn't know what to say, but he needed to say something, anything. "I was wrong." Øystein whispered, feeling shame blossom in his chest. "I was wrong, about everything." He didn't like to admit it, but in a distant way, Øystein supposed that it was the truth. 

Per backed away, looking scared and distrustful. His back was hunched, and there was something about him that reminded Øystein of a wild fox that'd been caught in a trap with nowhere to run, with the grim certainty that he would soon die and be left to drift into the dsrkness. 

"I - understand this, Pelle, above all else, that it felt _weird._ You didn't feel weird, but the situation did." Øystein continued, prompted by the silence. "I was raised in a house that viewed _that_ sort of relationship between two men as very wrong. I hang around people who view it as wrong." He looked down at the floor, seeing the scuff marks and focusing on them. "A friend of mine is violently against it, and when you kissed me, it felt nice, but I couldn't help but think of them and how you are a - well, man." Øystein looked up and motioned vaguely toward Per, who tilted his head but continued to bask in his stiff silence. 

Suddenly aware that the silence could mean so much more than an unwillingness to speak, that Jørn and Jan would be able to hear them, Øystein stepped foward and lowered his voice even more. Per, by comparison, stiffened. Øystein's heart started to hurt. "You know how people, especially here, Pelle, react to that sort of thing." He said. "What about your parents? Did they not express, y'know, anger toward it?" Øystein hoped that Per would understand what he was saying. 

Per frowned. "Of course. But they don't need to know, yes?" He sounded hurt and rather upset, his tone soft and face twisted into a deeply weary look. "It is our secret, or do you feel the need to let everybody know of it?" Per might've been making some weird attempt at a joke, but it just seemed to add to the overall tension that was hovering through the cabin. 

"But people always find out about secrets." Øystein hissed. "They always find out, and then what? Our careers, our livelihoods, gone in the blink of an eye because we were stupid enough to l - have feelings for each other!" He gestured frantically in the air and then stared at Per's face, hoping for some sign that he would agree with what was being said. 

"The only one who is being stupid about this is you." Per whispered. 

For a moment, and a long moment at that, Øystein was unable to respond, and so they just stood there and looked at each other. Øystein considered those words, and knew them to be true, but his pride was unwilling to agree with such a thing. 

In a way, Øystein hated Per, because he was the bad truth, and yet, he loved him because he was, well, him. Per said all those things that Øystein didn't dare think about, and it hurt, deep in his chest. "Perhaps." Øystein finally allowed, his voice hoarse. "But you're not giving me a chance." He looked away and stared at a package of crackers that was sitting on the cabinet, reading the nutritional facts to distract himself. 

"Okay." Per said. He turned around and walked to the kitchen table, where he sat down and splayed his hands, as if to show off. "Tell me." He raised his eyebrows and, for a moment, Øystein saw the man that Per could've been if a combination of his natural personality and childhood bullying had not pushed him down and made him effectively decide that he was the only person that could be trusted. 

Øystein blinked. "Well, for one, this whole issue with - you and me, together, in a relationship." He had to force the words out, grinding them from his teeth. "I'm not the sort of person who _does_ relationships. And considering that I haven't seen you so much as touch a girl in the last three and a half years, I think that you are in the same boat." He said. 

"If you say so." Per said, and he sounded oblivious, calm. 

"But then, Pelle, do you remember a few days ago, at our last show, when you cut yourself and there was blood all over the place and when we got home, I asked if you were okay, and you asked me when I started caring?" Øystein hated to remember that night, but Per nodded, slowly but surely. "I've cared for a long while, but I haven't been able to - to figure out how to express it." He said. 

Per looked away, down at his hands, and nodded. 

"And I still don't fucking know." Øystein buried his face in his hands, and he wanted, so bad, to just cut the rope and be done with it all already. But, suddenly, the idea of being without Per was utterly terrifying and Øystein didn't like it, not at all. He was against the mere idea, and hated it, how weak he was becoming. "I don't know how to be with a man. And you don't know how to even be in a relationship." Øystein looked up, and crossed his arms. "Wait. Have you ever been in a relationship?" It felt weird to ask, but even weirder not to be. 

"Hasn't everybody?" Per replied wearily. "Definite that." He was picking at one of his fingernails. 

Øystein sighed. "Like - like Jørn and his girlfriend." It was the best and only example that he could think of. 

"Then no." Per said. 

"Oh, that's just fucking great." Øystein looked up toward the ceiling. "Kissed?" 

"Yes." Per said. 

"Who?" Øystein asked. 

"You." Per smiled vaguely, the corners of his mouth peeking up hesitantly. 

Unsure about whether or not to be angry or exasperated, Øystein shook his head, closing his eyes, hoping to disappear from the world, if only temporarily. He couldn't believe that any of this was happening, and then he opened his eyes and looked at Per and believed it completely, because Per was the only person where such a thing could happen and he seemed perfectly okay with it. 

Jan suddenly appeared, looking deeply unimpressed. "I gave you seven minutes." 

"Oh, for the love of - fuck off." Øystein still wasn't happy with Jan, and he didn't care to play nice with the drummer. "Thanks, we got two extra minutes. Such a fucking saint." He rolled his eyes, knowing that he was being just as unreasonable but not caring in the slightest. 

"You're not the one whose in a position to make decisions." Jan said through clenched teeth. 

Øystein fought back the urge to punch Jan, his hands curling into fists but stuck stiffly by his sides. "Five more minutes." He said, feeling like a child, begging to stay up for a little while longer. Øystein loathed to beg, but he willed himself to make an exception for just one more time. 

"I'm not about to regret something today." Jan said, shaking his head. "I'm not about to risk my neck and Per's just because you can't can't figure out what the fuck you want." He added in a hiss. 

"Five, Jan, five. We're actually getting somewhere." Øystein could hear the desperation in his own voice. He looked into Jan's eternally dark eyes, and hoped that he would get the answer that he wanted and needed. 

Jan looked at Per, as if trying to gauge a reaction or some sort of answer. But Per only stared, and Jan exhaled through clenched teeth. "Five." Jan repeated, turning and walking out of the room faster than Øystein could stop him, not that he wanted to, anyways. 

After all, Jan was only the barrier between them, and while Øystein supposed that they would need to patch their friendship up at some point, now was not the time because he was already trying to deal with all this weird, romantic shit that didn't make any sort of sense. 

Alone again, Per shrunk back in his chair, arms crossed. "What are you about to say?" He asked, as if he was wanting to prepare himself for the worst. 

"What did you mean, about me being the voice in your head?" Øystein softened his voice. He wasn't quite so sure that he wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to hear it if they would make any kind of significant improvement. He leaned foward slightly, wanting to sit down but knowing that he probably wouldn't be able to get so close. 

Per pursed his lips. "You know what I meant." He replied. 

"Yes, but what - why - " Øystein ran his hand through his hair. "For how long? Do you know _why?_ Help me out here, Pelle." But he was fighting a losing battle, because the eyes that stared back at him were weary and tired. 

"I don't know. Awhile." Per's focus became on a loose thread that was dangling from a hole in his jeans. He wrapped it around his index finger. "And if I knew why, wouldn't I have stopped it by now?" He undid the thread, and looked curiously at his finger, which had turned slightly purple from the lack of blood flow. 

Øystein watched, both weirded out and fascinated, just like when they were on stage and Per would slit his wrists. He was disgusted but unable to look away from the terrible events that were taking place. "Pelle?" He said. 

"Yes?" Per's voice was thin and strained. 

"If I were to kiss you, would you reject me?" Øystein asked. 

"Yes." Per nodded, and his face seemed to crumble. He clenched his fists and then pressed them against either sides of his head. Per knocked his hands against his head, hard enough that Øystein's heard a dull _thunk_ noise from across the kitchen. 

Wincing, Øystein shook his head. "Don't do that, Pelle." He said. 

"I'm sorry." Per said, stricken, knocking his fists against his skull again. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault." He did it again, gripping his hair and pulling on it in a way that seemed desperate and lonely. 

Øystein's heart was hurting just as much as Per's head probably was. He suddenly hated the world, and wished for nothing more than eternal absolution, for a moment of peace from the chaos. "No, Pelle. No, this isn't your fault."


	22. Chapter 22

It was the closest sight that Øystein had ever been able to compare to 'heartbreaking', and it hurt, more than anything else. Øystein had once bashed his head against the the sharp edge of a table and had once twisted his ankle while swimming, but this sight made a terrible pain that wasn't even physical blossom in his chest, and Øystein wanted to go back in time, to stop himself from being such an asshole, but he couldn't and that became such a terrible truth. 

Things were spiraling again, Øystein knew. They were going backwards just when they'd just been about to go foward, and Øystein scrambled for a foothold as he fell down the cliff. "Pelle. Pelle, stop it." He said, but his voice sounded weak and he hated it, how out of bounds he felt. 

Pelle hit himself again, his hands curled into fists, looking halfway to angry. He didn't get angry, and that made Øystein concerned. Per got annoyed and irritated but he never got angry, it just wasn't his personality. "Hey." Øystein stepped foward, hesitating for a minute before he figured that, if he didn't stop it, then Jan would come in and start getting all worked up again. "Hey, Pelle. If you don't stop that then I'm gonna come over there and make you stop it." Øystein didn't know if he meant it or not, he just needed to say something. 

"It's my fault for being so sensitive." Per said in a soft voice, uncurling his hands and pressing one of them against his head. He looked up at Øystein with wide, hurt eyes. "I shouldn't have kissed you, no?" Per slapped his head, and then he buried his face in his hands, hunching his shoulders, looking unusually small in the chair, curled up, like he wanted to disappear. 

Øystein shook his head. "You did the right thing, Pelle." He replied, but he didn't seem to be heard as Per dug his fingernails into his face and dragged down. 

Luckily, Per didn't have sharp nails, so they just left faint, long, red marks on his pallid face, from his cheeks down to his mouth, which matched the bruise on the side of his face with startlingly accuracy. 

Wincing, Øystein stepped toward. He walked slowly, but surely. "Why are you doing that?" He asked, even though he knew a little bit too well. 

Shaking his head, Per suddenly lost the angry look, and his face became a blank slate, the scratch marks already disappearing from his face. "I don't want to talk anymore." He said. 

"Oh, no, not yet." Øystein was still scrambling. "Just a few more minutes, okay?" 

"No. No more talking." Per shook his head, suddenly looking very frightened and very weary. He shrunk back, eyes wide behind his hair. "Please don't make me, please, please, don't make me." Per tried to stand up from his chair but he tripped over his feet and ended up sprawled across the ground, startled and upset. 

Øystein extended his hands, even though he was five feet away and too far to actually help, and Per flinched. "Please don't run away from me right now, Pelle." 

"I should've done it earlier." Per whispered, pushing himself up and back onto his feet. "You shouldn't have stopped me." He looked almost betrayed. "You should've let me put that bloody bullet in my head and be done with it." Per gripped the edges of the table in his hands, until his knuckles turned pale white. 

"Then why were you in my room if you truly, really wanted me to do it?" Øystein hissed, glancing over his shoulder but seeing nobody, although the chill remained in his spine. 

"I wanted to - to see what you'd do." Per said. "I wanted to hear that you said you hated me before I did it." He sounded nearly ashamed of himself, but frustrated at the same time. 

Øystein shook his head. "But I don't hate you." He said. 

"I thought you did." Per mumbled, looking down at his hands. 

Opening his mouth, Øystein suddenly realized that he hadn't done anything to make sure that Per thought any different. He had only been a jerk in their time together, had belittled and made fun of Per, had bullied him just like all those kids did back when Per was been a child, too afraid and too weak to defend himself. 

In truth, Øystein wasn't any better than those kids. He was just another blot in the existence of Per Ohlin, and that made Øystein feel breathless, worried, and halfway between saddened and angry. No matter how much he tried to convince himself of anything different, it wouldn't work. 

"Do you hate me, Pelle?" Øystein asked. 

"No." Per replied. "I'm afraid that I could never hate you." He said in a regretful tone, as if he wanted to hate Øystein, but couldn't quite bring himself to. 

And Øystein couldn't blame him, couldn't even blame that slight recoil as he stepped toward Per, slowly, until they were standing about a foot away from each other, brown eyes meeting blue, and Øystein wondered what would've happened if he hadn't panicked and ruined everything. He'd be kissing Per, that would be for sure. And Per wouldn't look so heartbreakingly devastated. 

But that was an 'if only', and Øystein reached out, his hand slow and tentative. 

If Per didn't want to be touched, then he had openly of time to react before the hand landed gently on his neck, right below his cheek. Øystein brushed past soft blonde hair and his hand rested gently on Per's skin, a moment of touch before, as if uncomfortable, Per pulled away, looking down as his leg hit the table. 

Øystein sighed. "Should we...head back?" He asked. 

And Per nodded. "I guess we should." He played with his hands, looking embarrassed and confused, and Øystein wished that he could help. 

But, in the end, he couldn't help anybody, not even himself, and a part of him wondered if he was only making things worse for Per, who was the last person that Øystein wanted to hurt right now, and the possibility of hurting Per again just made Øystein feel that much worse. 


	23. Chapter 23

Per didn't know what he was supposed to think. He especially didn't know what he was supposed to say as he walked back into the living room, wanting desperately to go back upstairs, but he knew full and well that Jan wouldn't let him, so he didn't try, and just sat back down, hands stiff on his legs. 

For some reason, Øystein had wanted to kiss him. He'd _asked_ to kiss him, and he looked like he'd wanted it, too. Per didn't know why, he just didn't understand! And, maybe, he didn't want to understand. Øystein had been angry, he'd called Per a _freak_ and a _faggot_ and he'd hit him, and Per had been taken back to when he was a kid on the playground and all of the others would push him around and hurt him, and then Øystein had apologized. 

"Are you okay?" Jan asked, his voice a pitched whisper, dark eyes filled with concern, and Per felt uncomfortable, wiping his hands on his jeans, uncertain and very, very cold. He didn't know why Jan was being so nice, and he didn't like it. 

"Hey." Jan leaned foward slightly. "Pelle. What happened?" He asked, and his concern turned into suspicion. Out of the corner of his eye, Jan watched as, with a sharp irritation, Øystein walked back into the living room. And then, Jan looked back at Per, his eyes narrowing at the silence. 

"It's okay." Per whispered, even though he suddenly felt breathless. He sunk back into the couch and silently begged Jan not to make a scene. Jan sat back, although his gaze remained firm on Øystein, and Per took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to relax, to try not to be guilty because he hadn't let Øystein kiss him. Per didn't want to be kissed. He didn't want to be kissed because the last time he'd been kissed it had ended in pain. 

Per's breath hitched, and he shut his eyes tightly. He rocked slightly, back and forth, his back hitting the couch softly. He didn't want to be kissed, but he wanted to be loved. ' _What?'_ Per shook his head. This was wrong. He was darkness! He was fucking Mayhem! But Per wanted for Øystein to smile at him and touch him. 

But Per was afraid. He didn't want to be hurt again. He didn't like being hurt. 

And Øystein had hurt him. 

There was a warm hand on Per's abdomen, heavy and firm and steady. "Stop that." Jan whispered. 

"I'm sorry." Per stilled. 

"Just calm down, okay?" Jan looked pointedly at Øystein, and their eyes met. 

Jan, calm and steady, looked angry, and Per didn't like it at all. "I have to use the bathroom." He lied through his teeth. Per didn't have to use the bathroom, but he needed to _go_ and be _alone._

"Pelle..." Jan's voice drifted off, uncertain. 

"I won't do anything. I promise." Per felt like he was about to throw up. 

Silent, Jan stared at him, contemplative, looking like he was deeply considering it on every level. He sighed, and looked away. "Okay, Pelle." He finally said, and he removed his hand, leaning back against the couch with a resigned look in his eyes that suggested that he knew that it was a losing battle. 

Standing up, Per quickly walked out of the living room and up the stairs, his stomach doing somersaults as he disappeared into the darkness of the upstairs landing. It was very quiet, and very, very still. Per's breathe was visible when he exhaled, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around his torso. 

The bathroom was even colder, the linoleum providing little warmth. Per kept the door open for at least some light, and he stared at himself, leaning foward and pressing his hands against the countertop. The mirror was cloudy, and Per stared back at the blue eyes that were glaring out from the veil. 

Slowly, Per reached down and grabbed the hem of his shirt. He took a deep breath, and pulled it up and over his head, feeling a hard shiver wrack his body as he stared at it. Per's ribs poked out from his skin, which was an even paler tone than his face was. There was a pale white scar on his abdomen, and Per frowned, running one of his hands over it. It was old and, sometimes, he forgot about it. 

But, as the darkness clouded in his mind, Per remembered the fists and boots that had raining down on him, splitting his lip and knocking his head and hammering down on his stomach. Per remembered the pain, his frantic pleading and begging, but it never worked, because he was weak, weird, the one kid that nobody liked. 

And the one adult that nobody liked, either. 

Per's eyes fell on the scar on his arm from when he'd cut himself with the bottle a few years previous. It hadn't properly healed, and was a lumpy mass of scar tissue that Per was often fascinated by. He looked back at the mirror, and wondered why Øystein didn't just leave him alone. 

Just a few weeks previous, Øystein had yelled at Per and thrown a can of string beans at his head. Jan, ever the peacemaker, had lost his mind and told Øystein to stop being a _fucking asshole with a victim complex_ and then rounded on Per to tell him to _stop_ _provoking him, do you like string beans being tossed at your head?_

"Strange." Per mumbled, brushing his hair away from his face and tucking it behind his ears. He puffed out his chest, as if in mock imitation of a hero from an old fairytale that his mother had read to him back when Per had been a child, and a sloppy grin formed on his lips. Per laughed at himself, at the oddity of it all. 

The laughter felt odd in his throat. Per didn't laugh a lot, nor did he even talk a lot, and never without a good reason, anyways. But, in that moment, the true strangeness of the situation fell upon Per like a bunch of bricks, and he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to smother his childlike giggles. 

"Funny, this is strange." Per whispered against his knuckles. His teeth scraped against the skin and hard bone. "This is so bloody strange. Øystein wants to kiss me!" He started giggling again, and he covered his face, dropping his shirt onto the ground as he, too, fell onto his ass on the ground, his shoulders shaking, and he didn't know when those giggles had turned into harsh sobs. 

Per didn't cry a lot, either, but his emotions were all messed up, and his tears felt hot as they dripped down his nose before he could wipe them away. He snorted in a breath full of snot, resting his forehead on his knees. He was starting to feel weak again, and Per didn't like that, not at all. 

Emotions clouded Per's mind, and he sobbed, digging his thumbs into his eyes and causing a burning feeling in his brain as the fear and pain burned in his chest.

An arm slid around his shoulder, and Per bit back a yelp of surprise as Jørn's cologne filled his nose. Jørn's heartbeat was steady against Per's head, and he was unusually warm when compared to the otherwise chilly air. Per stiffened, pulled into the unusual hug. 

"What are you doing?" Per asked. 

Jørn squeezed Per's shoulder. "What are you hiding from me, Pelle?" 


	24. Chapter 24

Truth be told, Per hadn't thought much about Jørn since...everything had started happening. Jørn had been put off to the side, and Per had given him little thought, especially since he was the only one who seemed oblivious to the situation at hand, and Per was glad for that. Jørn wasn't exactly known for being good at keeping secrets, and Per couldn't handle someting like that. 

But there Jørn was, all wide, dark eyes, strands of his hair falling around his face, and he looked concerned. Jørn was worried, and Per didn't like that, because that implied that Jørn was something else besides happy or angry, two emotions that seemed to dominate his mindset more than anything else. 

"Well?" Jørn implored quietly. "Pelle, something is very wrong, and you, nobody will, actually, won't tell me what's going on. And I'm _worried,_ Pelle. So please tell me what's going on here." The tone in Jørn's voice was one of desperation, of want and need, a primal sort of urge that made his eyes widen. 

Per shrunk back, staring at Jørn, and wondering what he would say. Jørn didn't deserve to be kept in the dark, but Per couldn't do this, he just couldn't. He felt badly frightened, and his fingers and sharp nails scraped uselessly at the flooring as he grasped weakly for nothing. 

A small part of Per wanted to tell Jørn that he didn't quite understand what was going on, either, but he didn't. He bit his lip, and wondered if Jørn understood his hesitation. He probably didn't. Per felt alone. "I can't." Per whispered, and Jørn groaned in frustration. Per flinched, and Jørn's face contorted in sympathy. 

"I'm sorry." Jørn said softly. "I just can't - why - is it something bad?" He asked. 

"I don't know." Per said truthfully, because he really didn't know. 

"Is...is Øystein hurting you?" Jørn whispered. 

"No." But Per raised his hand, and lightly grazed his fingers against the mark on his cheek, which burned in response to the slight touch. 

Jørn's dark eyes narrowed. "I am not afraid to get the truth, Pelle." He said, and it sounded like a threat, a promise, a truth. 

"Oh, no." Per moaned. "Don't. Promise! Promise you won't." He grabbed at Jørn's arm, his grip tight in fear, and Jørn gently grabbed him, hands light against his pallid face. 

"I will, if you tell me." Jørn said calmly. 

Per hesitated, and he wished that Jan was there. Hell, even Øystein would do. He didn't want to face this giant thing alone. Per felt like that scared child again, and he loathed it. "Please don't make me." He said, and the beginnings of sadness crept into his soft voice. 

"Then I'm going straight for Øystein. Or Jan. I haven't decided yet." Jørn went to stand up, but Per still had a tight grip on him, so Jørn didn't get far. "For fuck's sake, Pelle, just tell me. What's gotten you so worked up, man? I don't judge!" 

"But you would." Per hissed as he stood up. 

Jørn stared at him for a long minute. "Just tell me." He insisted. "I know that I make fun of you sometimes, but I'm your friend, Pelle. I will be here for you when you need me, no matter what." He said. 

"Not when you figure things out." Per replied softly. 

"That's not true." Jørn said. "Not at all. I've known you for how many years?" 

"Three." Per gave the bassist a weary look. 

"Okay, that's not a lot, but still, you're my friend." Jørn said. 

But Per didn't think that. He didn't think that anybody in the cabin was his friend in any stretch of the word. Jan was sweet, but he looked at Per as if he was an escaped psycho. Øystein had made his intentions clear. And Jørn was, well, just in it because he felt pity. 

And that hurt, more than it should've. 

Because Per had left his home for pitiful looks and a man who wanted to kiss him one minute and then hurt him the next. Per had left behind his parent and his brother for a world that was only out to hurt him. He'd left Morbid for this shit, and Per wanted to scream.

God, Per wanted to scream.

"The world is falling apart underneath me." Per said. "And I'm screaming and screaming, people hear me, but they assume that it's because I just want to cut and make myself bleed. They don't understand the _real_ reasons." His lip curled, his eyes bright, like two blue flames. 

"And what are the real reasons?" Jørn asked. 

"I, Per Yngve Ohlin, like a man." Per said. 

And Jørn's face paled. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, like a guppy. A weak noise came out of his mouth, and Per grinned, his teeth sharp in the darkness. Per let go of Jørn and walked away, down the hall and into his room. Per shut the door and collapsed into bed, burying his face against the pillow, muffling his screams. 

Long after the door had closed, Jørn continued to stand there, stuck by the words, unsure of what to think or how to think, just knowing that one of his friends had just told him that he was gay, and it was all to much. Jørn ran his hands through his hair. "Shit." He muttered. 

Truth be told, Jørn didn't give a damn that Per liked some guy. But it still freaked him out. Per wasn't the sort of person who dated, or had sex, or, well, did much of anything like that. He was a lone solider, trapped in his own little war. 

Shaking his head, Jørn rubbed the bridge of his nose, and wondered why he'd made Per say anything at all. 


End file.
